My December
by Not2BForgotten
Summary: It was so hard...nothing he did was right...and his brother was paying the price...with his life. R&R Please! Now Complete!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I hope you like this story, this is the first story I've ever written and I'm hoping that you like it. Let me know. R&R Please!

Chapter 1

Charlie happily bobbed his head up and down to the beat of the music blasting in his ears. Had other people been present they would have said he were a chicken bobbing its head and not a highly educated mathematician graduated from high school at thirteen years of age and the owner of multiple PhD's. He darted from board to board, adding new complex mathematical equations to already lengthy complicated equations. He was finally getting to work on a project he'd wanted to do for a long time. He wouldn't have pesky fathers demanding he take a break and hopefully no reason for the F.B.I to sidetrack him.

It had taken him weeks to convince his father to take a cruise or go on vacation. Now after all his hard work, his father was on a three-week vacation. He sang along with the song as loud as he wanted. With his dad on vacation that left the house to himself and no one to be courteous to. He smiled at himself as he reviewed the condition of the house. His mess of papers, opened books, chalkboards, and dishes from previous meals started in the garage, wound its way through the kitchen, and had now migrated to the living room. He could just imagine the face his old man would make if he saw this mess. Laughing at himself he dove right back into his work.

By sending his father on vacation, he knew in a way that he was sending himself on a desperately needed vacation. At some time during Charlie's work, his stomach grumbled. He didn't know whether it was a midnight snack or what day it was since he'd promised him he wouldn't bog down his vacation by keeping track of time. Bobbing towards the kitchen he dug out some pizza from the back of the fridge. Once the food was hot he sauntered back to the living room, stopping in his tracks.

Three men wearing all black with matching ski masks and gloves stood in the living room and pointed hand guns with silencers at him. They were all about the same height and build. The guy standing in the middle looked like he had an itchy trigger finger. Charlie didn't think twice, he threw the plate of food at the intruders and ran for the other room. A round of silent shots zinged mere centimeters away from him. One shot went through his thigh and embedded into the wall. The cord of the i-pod caught on a chair as Charlie skidded around it taking it from him. He could hear the loud thuds of people running towards him.

All at once they appeared in the doorway. The first jumped over the table straight at him, the other two ran at him from both sides of the table. He ducked the first and hopped onto the table sliding to the other side. Charlie was taken by surprise when the table tipped over and landed on its side with a crash that sent him tumbling. He groaned as a wave of pain coursed through his leg. He scrambled up and ran into the living room but was two seconds too late to escape a bullet embedding into his shoulder. Diving out of the way of a second bullet, he went over the back of the couch, bounced, and landed on the coffee table, collapsing it beneath him. Split second after the TV screen shattered from the bullet that missed him.

He could feel the tiredness taking over his body. he had to get out of there fast. Jumping up he made a run for the front door. He never knew he could switch directions so fast while running until one of his attackers materialized in front of the door. He turned and ran for the stairs. Charlie cried out when a large chunk of glass from the forgotten plate sliced into the sole of his foot. Exhaustion slowed his every movement, he could feel himself sinking. His body screamed for relief from the suddenly gained injuries. The fringes of his vision were disintegrating into blackness. He forced himself to limp up the stairs.

If he could lock himself in his room or the bathroom he might be able to call for help or escape through a window. His foot barely touched the top step when the butt of a gun smashed against his forehead. He never felt himself tumble down the stairs nor did he feel the shards of glass digging into his back. Charlie only saw his tree attackers hovering above him before his world collapsed to darkness.

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Don groaned as he rolled over in bed. He could hear his cell phone going off next to his ear. It was amazing how horribly bright and red his alarm clock glowed, especially at three in the morning. Glowering he looked at the caller I.D. things didn't improve at seeing it was Charlie's cell phone number. Grumbling he answered it.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Yes, I do" Don snapped to attention.

"Who is this?"

"You should be asking where Charlie is."

"Where's Charlie?"

"That is the question, isn't it?"

"Where is he?" Don growled

"With me, for now"

"How do I know you really have him?"

"You don't"

"I need to know he's still alive."

"Alright, you asked for it." Don heard the man snap his fingers, two pairs of footsteps hurried away only to return more slowly as if they were dragging some one. The next thing he heard was his brother begging for them, whoever they were, to stop, followed by the loud familiar snap of a bone being broken and Charlie crying out in pain. Don sat frozen; he never expected them to turn violent so easily.

"Now that I've got your attention, I want you to go to this hotel and wait for my next call. Oh, and remember, don't go to your F.B.I friends." Don jotted down the name of the hotel and its address. Tearing through his apartment he packed some essentials into a bag and drove away. Controlled by years of training he drove in the direction of the office only to pull over when his phone rang. Fearfully he answered the phone.

"You didn't do what I instructed, Eppes" Don never had a chance to answer; he suddenly heard a door swing open and the sound of his brother crying out in agony ring out through the phone. He could hear every terrible thud from the impacts inflicted upon his brother. He heard his brother desperately pleading for help. Don pleaded for them to stop. He promised total obedience, if they would only stop, but they didn't. The impacts continued, Charlie's pleads continued. Don just sat there, shaking, not knowing what to do.

This wasn't supposed to be happening. Criminals, especially those with hostages, weren't supposed to take it to this level, not this soon. He needed Terry. He needed her to tell him which button to push that would make them stop. But she wasn't here; it was only him, only he could make them stop. He was alone. Just as quickly as it had all begun, Charlie's voice became weaker and then was gone completely. Trembling he dropped the phone unable to keep his grip on anything when he heard the cruel clatter of a bat being thrown to the cold hard floor.

"Go to the hotel" was the last thing he heard before Don went numb to the world.


	2. Chapter 2

Beyond the Limit

Chapter 2

Terry drummed her fingers on her desk. She really wanted some coffee but she didn't feel like getting up to get some. It was an interesting dilemma. As of yet she hadn't been able to convince David that he really wanted to get her some coffee. She would have tried to persuade Don to get her some but his desk was still abnormally empty. It was a real shame too; he still seemed to have a soft spot for her. If anyone would get her coffee it would be him. Giving up she sauntered over to the coffee and poured herself a cup.

"Hey David, you seen Don today?"

"Nope"

"He couldn't possibly be home sick, he would have to be on his deathbed or already dead to miss work"

"He didn't call in sick"

"Maybe his clock broke, I'm going to go wake him up" When Terry arrived at Don's apartment she immediately noticed his car was gone. Something told her to go to his apartment anyways. She was surprised to find the door unlocked when she let herself in. the apartment was a wreck; there was stuff all over the place. It looked like either someone had ransacked the place, or packed for a trip real fast. Terry couldn't find Don; trying to remain rational and not jump to conclusions she drove to Charlie's to see if perhaps Don had spent the night. Even as she drove her gut instinct told her that she wouldn't find Don, that something was terribly wrong. She tried to shake away the feeling but it only grew stronger.

This was one of the few times she wished for her gut instinct to be wrong, to be a false alarm. Alarms went off in her head when she found the front door unlocked and slightly ajar. Growing anxious she pushed the door open with her foot, drawing her gun. A chunk of ice dropped to the pit of her stomach. The furniture was over turned; remnants of a glass plate lay shattered a few feet from the stairs. Terry didn't think the situation could look anymore bleak until she saw all of the blood.

There were smears of blood trailing across the overturned kitchen table; bloody footprints lead all the way up the stairs before stopping. Bloodstains on the back of the couch showed the scenario of someone making a rolling dive over it, bouncing off the cushions, and landing on top of the coffee table. Blood pooled around the splinters of the table and shattered glass from the TV. Terry forced herself to swallow back the bile that rose in her throat. She could already feel the frustration rising up in her. Whipping out her cell she speed dialed David.

"Sinclaire"

"David, Don and Charlie are missing. You need to send forensics over here immediately"

"Terry, where are you?"

"I'm at Charlie's house, there's blood every where"

"Alright, we're on our way" Terry pocketed her phone glancing around once more at the grim display within the house. Questions swirled through her analytical mind. She forced her mind to focus on the task at hand and remain professional. Painstakingly she put herself through the paces. It was quite clear that there was a struggle. By the amount of blood there were numerous injuries, some were probably serious, which also meant the kidnapper or kidnappers were armed. Slowly her thoughts drifted from her analysis to the out comes of previous kidnappings that started out similar to this, she mentally shook herself drawing her attention back to her work.

In the corner of her eye she saw a bullet hole in the wall. After closer inspection she felt sure that the bullet was still there. From the size of the hole it was probably a basic handgun. The fact that no gunshots were reported in this area last night meant that silencers were used. Taking a more thorough look she found five bullets throughout the house, within walls, chairs, and other various objects. Terry's imagination took hold yet again as old photographs of gunshot wounds from victims, whether living or dead, floated through her mind. Her imagination took the reality from those photos and accentuated the severity of the injuries. The strange simplicity of those wounds was gone, replaced by a twisted, grotesque, nightmarish wound.

Shaking her head vigorously she was grateful to see David pull up in the driveway with the team in his wake. She rushed out of the house to greet the team, happy to leave the grisly scene behind, even if only for a few moments. Getting over with the pleasantries David and Terry walked into Charlie's house bracing themselves for the unknowns. When David entered his face dropped at the dismal outlook of the home. He never expected to be investigating a kidnapping case with the crime scene at Charlie's house and the victim Charlie and possibly Don as well.

Recollecting himself to his professional manner, he began the investigation. The day seemed unending, dozens of rolls of film were used, blood samples were taken, and finger print dusting took place in every corner of the house. Terry and David found themselves holding a breath anxiously when the lab results for the blood were brought to them. David paled looking at the results before handing them to Terry. She let out the breath she had been holding, disappointed.

The blood was Charlie's; it was all Charlie's. What was worse was that one of the five bullets had blood on it; it had gone straight through him. Smudges of blood revealed that he was dragged to the door and carried the rest of the way. Terry fought against the bile rising in her throat. She struggled to remain professional. These were her close friends that had been kidnapped and clearly injured. This wasn't supposed to happen to people she knew, it was supposed to happen to complete strangers, people she would never see again no matter what the outcome. It was an easy task, remaining professional, but when it came to close friends, it was one of the hardest things to do. Where was Charlie? Was he alive? Who would kidnap Charlie and why? What worried her most was Don's disappearance. It was clear what had happened to Charlie, they would be able to investigate and hopefully find him quickly, but Don. What happened to Don?


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Charlie regained consciousness with a jolt, springing up as far as he could. He immediately regretted the action. His right arm burned like fire all the way to his shoulder only to intensify at the shoulder blade housing a bullet. Pain shot through his ribs, abdomen, and chest causing him to cough in pain that threw him into a coughing fit. Every little movement sent a wave of dizziness over him. It was difficult to take a deep breath but he did. Every tiny stitch of the retched blindfold pressing upon his eyes keeping him blind to the world irritated him.

Ever since he was attacked at his house he'd been blindfolded. He didn't know where he was or how long ago he'd been taken. Was Don looking for him? Did Don even know he was missing? His mind began a retreat into numbers. Charlie mentally shook himself; he couldn't retreat into his numbers, not yet. If there was a way to escape he had to find it, for himself and for his brother. Stretching his fingers he traced along the restraints holding him down. They were metal, not very thick. He suspected it was meant to bolt pipes to the ground. He wiggled his arm trying to free himself; it wouldn't budge.

Charlie could feel the beads of sweat running down his body. The room was steadily growing warmer, reaching the point of being stifling. He was grateful not to have the extra warmth of wearing a shirt. It seemed like they were determined to make him uncomfortable at all times. Suddenly he was mad, he was mad at the world. He hated his captors for not even giving him the time of day, no even to monologue about their diabolical plans. He yelled at them to show themselves; to come out of hiding. He called them cowards, shouting until he was hoarse and out of breath. After a while he gave up; they were determined to ignore him.

He lay there pondering why they had taken him in the first place. He was still mulling over this question when the door swung open and slammed shut. Charlie couldn't help but jump. He didn't know what was to come, but he knew it wouldn't be good. He braced himself for the worst determined not to give them the satisfaction of hearing him scream. He could hear someone walking around him, staring at him as if trying to decide what to do with him. The footsteps were heavy; those of a large man. The steps stopped by his feet. Charlie could hear his breathing; his heart thudded in his chest. The wheels in his head whirled away rapidly. He didn't know what this man was going to do him but he knew it wouldn't be of any benefit to him. He had to fight back. He did the only thing he could. Kicking out he landed a blow against the guy's shins. Caught by surprise the guy fell with a satisfying thud. Charlie smiled at his success. It probably wouldn't gain him anything, but it was satisfying.

He listened as the guy lumbered to his feet. He walked away from his feet to his head. Charlie tensed; he couldn't possibly be lucky enough to get away with what he did. Stars danced before his eyes from a brutal kick to the side of his head. That whole side of his face tingled and went numb. His hopes for that to be all that would come were greatly disappointed. He was barely able to stifle a cry of surprise and pain as a sharp, splintering object pierced into the soft skin beneath his fingernails. Gritting his teeth he held in the cries of pain that clawed its way to get free. Time after time the splintering object wedged itself beneath his nail with increasing intensity. It became impossible to remain silent but Charlie didn't allow himself more then a grunt or short whimper of pain.

His defiance crumbled away when the pains jumped from his fingernails to his toenails. Cries of pain issued from him as white-hot agony radiated through him. He fought back the tears as the seconds stretched and grew long, the room faded away, he felt light headed only conscious of the hot pain inflicted on him as his nails were slowly peeled from his skin, taking shreds of skin with them. He begged for it to be over. He was shaking uncontrollably. The yells of pain seemed distant, muted, as if some one in the distance had uttered them and not him. He didn't know when they stopped; he never heard them leave. The pain didn't stop but continued to radiate throughout him long after they stopped. Blindfolded as he was, he stared into the darkness not thinking, no numbers or equations wafted through his mind. The silence was eerie.

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Don stared at the black and white static dancing wildly across the screen. It seemed like demons dancing before his eyes, sneering at him, celebrating his plight. The remote to end their wicked dance had long since slipped from his shaking hands. Beside the fallen remote lay a small square box. The morbid contents spilled before it. His breaths were short and quick, he shook violently; he couldn't stop staring hollowly at the screen. _How did I get to this point?_ _Where did I go wrong to cause this?_ No matter what he did his brother paid for it. Now he had to do more. He was being wielded like a puppet; the string that held him in their power was his brother. He did what these people asked to protect his baby brother. But he had to ask himself how far he would go.

First it had been simple, just empty his bank account and leave the money at a drop off. Thing went smoothly until somehow they knew that he kept a small amount to buy food and pay for the hotel room. Enough for basic needs, that was all, but they didn't care and Charlie had paid the price. Then he was told to bring them a file. That was a little more difficult but was still accomplished. But he was two minutes late to the drop off; again Charlie paid the price. Now they were getting serious. They wanted him to rob a bank. He didn't know if he could. He had to protect his brother. If he didn't do this Charlie would be the one to pay the price, not him.

He had to do this; it wasn't his right to sacrifice his brother's life to avoid doing something he didn't want to. A beam of sunlight stretched across his face. It was strangely cold like the announcement of a tragedy to come. Delicate tears shone in the clear sunlight, silently spilling over the brims of his eyes. He allowed himself five minutes; five minutes of emotion. The minutes ticked by slowly. The end of his emotions was not sudden. The five mutes passed. He rose slowly washing the tearstains from his face. He would do what he had to do. He would do it for Charlie.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Terry stood nursing her fourth cup of coffee that morning. The morning had started extremely early. A nearby bank robbery initiated this early morning. It was unusual for them to be doing a small bank job but a note had been left. It was a simplistic note written in a child's hand writing. Surprisingly the job had been done before the bank opened so there were no witnesses, only the note and lack of money. The job was very tidy. The only things broken were the doors and locks tat protected the money.

She took another sip of coffee as David fast forwarded the security tape to the time of the robbery. They watched carefully as the robber approached the door forcing his way in; the sun just barely rising. The robber wore all black clothing with a ski mask and what looked like nylon beneath it defending against any kind of identification. His shoulders were hunched and his head hung low. He proceeded to pack wads of cash into a nondescript duffel bag with slow, somber movements. Only once did the robber lift his head and even then not fully. He turned towards the door and looked directly at the camera, placed the note gently on the counter and resumed his escape through the door, head hanging lower than before.

This whole robbery gave off the feeling of regret. Terry looked at the note in her hand. It had been in an envelope addressed to David and her. Inside was a very simple note, _Find Him_; that was all it said. She kept a straight expression as a thought she didn't want to admit crossed her mind. She was grateful for the privacy; she didn't want to announce her thought to all the agents. She could feel David looking at her.

"You think it's Don don't you?" Terry nodded slowly.

"It would make sense. Charlie kidnapped, Don disappears, not necessarily kidnapped, then last night his bank account is completely emptied, and now the robbery and note."

"Well if it is him, then what is he doing and why?"

"I'm betting the 'why' is Charlie, but I'm not sure what he's doing."

"If he's trying to save Charlie, then what is he trying to save him from?"

"Let's find them before we have to find out"

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Alan sat on the plastic reclining chair listening to the sounds of the waves. The warm sunshine felt good. He let out a contented sigh. He was glad that Charlie talked him into this vacation. It felt good to be relaxing on a warm, peaceful beach. Turning the page of his book he took another sip of his coke. It was a good day. He continued to read away the morning serenely sipping his drink.

After a while a foreboding feeling crept into his heart. Something didn't feel right. Perhaps he just needed to stretch his legs. Getting up he walked up and down the beach letting small waves crash against his legs. His thoughts drifted towards his sons. He should call them and make sure they're alright. He stood thinking about this proposition for a moment then shook his head he as being silly. Why wouldn't his sons be fine? He began to read his book again warming his feet in the host sand, soon forgetting the foreboding feeling.

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Don stared at the bag in his hand. It was hideous what he did. He had to do it; his brother's life was at stake. It was so unfair. They didn't do anything to deserve this. Especially Charlie, he was living a peaceful life teaching math; that was it, harmless math. If anyone didn't deserve this mess, it was Charlie. Don threw the bag laden with money down at the drop off and stalked back to the hotel.

It was a disgusting little hotel. He'd been to it a couple of times to apprehend criminals. Now it was his turn to be the criminal hiding at the hotel. It was the perfect place to hide. The owner didn't ask questions as long as he received money for each room. When he arrived at his room there was an audio tape waiting for him. He didn't want to listen. They couldn't possibly be telling him that they were returning Charlie; it never happened that way and it wouldn't happen now.

He pressed play knowing what he would hear. It was all he ever heard, no matter what he did. I was all they would let him hear. He listened morosely to his brother. He didn't understand; he did what they asked him. He arrived at the drop off point on time. Why were they doing this? This wasn't right, he didn't do anything wrong during this job. His mind slowly went numb as his listened to the horrid recording, but he never stopped hearing it.

He couldn't do this; this was more than he could handle, it was over his head. He'd met his match. He didn't want to listen. He wanted to fast forward to the end where a message always resided. He couldn't do it though; he couldn't skip past his brother's pain. He didn't have the strength to skip it, but he couldn't listen either. He stood there, mesmerized by his brother's screams. His heart broken to pieces, he tried to block out the screams; he tried to think of a way to save his brother from the agony he was causing him; but he couldn't, he couldn't save his brother in his greatest time of need.

There was a list at the end, a list of robberies he was to perform with the exact location and times they were to be done. He knew he would do what they asked, he had no other options. He needed to get help. He knew he should that he should return to the F.B.I and his friends that would protect and help him in his hour of need, but he knew he wouldn't. He had no choice. So much had happened, so much pain was caused by him; it killed him that he could cause so much pain on his brother in only three days.

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The silence was deafening. He lost all sense of time. He listened for any kind of sound, anything. He needed something to listen to, something to distract him, to give his mind something to do. He tried to escape from the world. He failed to slip into unconsciousness. He just wanted to sleep. He never felt anything when he slept; no pain, no fear, the deepening hunger never came, and he could forget his extreme thirst. But no, that would be too merciful to let him sleep until rescue; rescue or death. He tried to swallow but the gag was tied so tightly he didn't have enough movement to swallow. His mouth was so dry. He could feel every part of his mouth cracking. He would give anything for a nice cool drink of water.

His stomach had stopped grumbling long ago as if realizing despite its demanding it would remain empty. The desperate hunger turned his stomach to an icy pain. He tried to remember how long a person could live without food and water. H furrowed his brow, he tried to think; he knew it wasn't a very long time. Three, three days before a person would die from dehydration. That was a sobering thought. How long did they intend to keep him? Would they give him water? How long would they keep him alive? And would they keep him alive once whatever they were using him for was done, or just kill him and dump him? A month, that's how long he could live without food; four small weeks; not all that strong was he? That was a depressing thought. He didn't want to go a month without food. He didn't know if he could.

Charlie jerked when the door swung open softly. Something wasn't right. They never entered quietly or passively. They always entered with a bang of the door and acted violently. For a few moments he thought that his despairing mind imagined the entrance of his captors. Then a thick hand grabbed the gag, jerked his head off the ground untying the gag with the other hand letting Charlie's head drop when he finished. Barely completing the gag he pried a finger into his mouth attempting to wrench it open. Charlie bit down on the finger, grinding it between his teeth. Blood filled his mouth; he could feel the skin tearing apart, and he liked it. The guy's yelling seemed to echo blissfully. It was his turn to bellow in pain.

He jerked his hand to get away but the kid's jaws were clenched like a crocodile. He tried to shake his finger lose. He gritted his teeth in pain. He could feel his skin ripping from the bone. He had to get loose. He slammed his foot down on the kid's broken arm. The kid hollered in pain, quickly releasing his finger. Rage filled him. The kid had gotten the best of him and would do it again if he got the chance. Trying to contain his anger he gathered a few items from outside the room. The kid chose to learn the hard way that fighting back would not be tolerated. Using techniques he'd learned through the years he tortured the kid, disciplining him for his violence. It was delightful hearing his pain vocalized. He could always tell what hurt the most simply by how loud the victim became. He used the worst methods he knew and the kid's voice was soon hoarse and disappearing.

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Pain, everything was pain. How long had it been? He couldn't think, his mind went numb long ago. He couldn't remember what it was like not to be in pain. The pain consumed him, he couldn't escape it. He wanted to escape. He wanted it all to end. He wanted to curl up in a ball and hide. He couldn't. Every time they came he thought maybe, maybe this time they would kill him. They were back, beating him again. He was still alive. They were still beating him. He wouldn't die. He just wouldn't die. He didn't know why, but they wouldn't kill him and he wouldn't die. There was no mercy. They simply left him in limbo; his mind was numb but the pain remained. They were truly merciless.

He resided in two kinds of darkness. The physical darkness caused by the blindfold and was a constant companion. The other was frightening, haunting, yet he longed for it. It was his safe haven from the pain, the fear, despair, and loneliness. He had no lifeline to cling to, no one to depend on, only darkness. He needed his brother; he needed Donnie. Donnie was strong, he could get him through. But Donnie wasn't here and he never would be, no one would. He would never be found; left here to endure this slow, agonizing death. Suddenly his attacker stopped beating him. He pried his mouth open without resistance and poured boiling liquid down his throat. He tried to turn aside or close his mouth but the hand held firm. He was forced to swallow or suffocate. A searing pain consumed his throat, chest, and stomach as he gulped the boiling water. Coughing and wheezing he sucked in as much of the hot air, desperately trying to cool his burning throat. Fighting against his bonds he tried to curl into a defensive ball but he couldn't and remained just as vulnerable as before.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Don stood in a glass room. There was one door leading outside with glittering crystal hinges on the outside. Looking inside at him was Terry, David, Larry, and Amita. He looked around for his father. Beyond, far in the distance was a second glass room, glowing in sunlight. Don had to squint to see it clearly. Fluffy white, cotton ball clouds drifted sluggishly overhead. Clear blue waves lapped against the sandy shore peacefully. His father sat on a large fluffy towel, eyes closed, a look of serenity on his face that Don envied. He called to his father, but he didn't hear. Don fought back the tears. He was alone, he was utterly alone; there were no doors in his father's glass room, he couldn't come to him. He walked to the center of the room. His friends followed with their eyes but remained silent. A shiver ran up Don's spine. It was so cold, it seemed to sap the warmth out of him.

He looked down at his hands, strings sprouted from his every joint. He suddenly felt the strings were all that held him, he couldn't stand without them. Don looked up following the strings to their source. High above, the ceiling was stain glass. It depicted a face. It was a horrid face, withdrawn and splotchy. It wore a sickly yellowed, toothy grin that seemed to mock him. Don didn't like the fat at all; he felt so much weaker than it. Below the face was a skeleton hand. Don's strings grew out of the fingertips of the skeleton hand. A second hand resided next to the first skeletal hand. The second was the same as the first except no strings sprouted from the fingertips. It did however wear a ring on the ring finger. The band of the ring was black onyx with a thin ribbon of gold encircling the center of the ring. The ring spun around revealing the top half. Crossing like an 'x', was an ax and a sword. The shaft of the ax was onyx with a band of gold spiraling around the shaft like the red and white of a candy cane. The blade was like that of a medieval battle ax. It was black up to the edge where it became a transparent blood red. At the center of the blade, was an inscription in gold was an intricate old antique capital 'J'.

Crossing from the right to the left was a sword. The hilt was onyx. At the very bottom was the gold inscription of a ferocious, golden dragon. The blade was black, the edges and a bar leading from the top of the hilt to the blade tip was the same transparent red. Inscribed at the center was a matching, gold, old antique capital 'R'. where the blades crossed paths a chain sprouted, entwined with gold, black, and red ribbons. The chain led down, hanging from it was his brother, Charlie. Black shackles fastened around his wrists, a larger version of the golden dragon laced onto each shackle. His brother looked at him. His eyes screamed of fear, despair, and agony. He said nothing. Don wanted so desperately to go to him. His heart burned with yearning to tell him not to be afraid, that he loved him, and that everything would be okay, but his body defied him, standing stock still. He tried to speak. If he couldn't got his him, he could at least speak to him. He tried to speak, but no words came, his mouth never even opened. He raised a hand to his mouth sliding it across, the stain glass hand moved in correlation to his every movement. Or was it moving him? He couldn't tell.

His fingers ran across his lips. He felt thread much like fishing line weave in and out of his lips. His mouth had been sewn shut, the needle and extra thread hung loosely at the corner of his mouth. Don felt like crying from frustration; he couldn't even talk to his brother. He looked around him again. His father still slept on a distant beach, his friends watched silently outside, and his brother still stared at him fearfully. All these people surrounded him, yet he was still alone. Suddenly he was striding towards Charlie. The skeletal hand worked vigorously, the face's grin widened. Charlie seemed to come alive, a terror consuming him, pulling back trying to flee. Don didn't understand, why would Charlie fear him? That was when he saw the mirror behind his brother and the haunting image within. He saw his image in the mirror. His clothes were bloodstained, smudges of blood stained his face and hair. He wore a malicious grin revealing bloody teeth. In his hand he held a knife, blood dripping from the point of the blade into a large crystal chalice, filled to the brim. In the background he saw a body, Terry's body, lying in a bloody heap, stab wounds all over her dead corpse. Don gulped back his grief and horror. She no longer stood outside with his friends looking in at him.

The skeletal hand moved again, forcing Don into sharp, rapid movements. Don plunged the knife deep into his brother's chest. The screams echoed in his ears and curdled his blood as the skeletal hand force every stab. Charlie's every plead burned into his ears. Then far more sudden then it came, it was gone. Charlie's body hung limp. The skeletal hand with the ring closed, the chain shattered. The body dropped silently. Don's strings floated away like cobwebs in the wind. He sank to his knees, staring horrified at his trembling, bloody hands. Tears streamed down his face. He looked up. Crouched before him was his mother. She smiled at him sweetly. Far more sweetly than he felt he deserved. Don shrank away from her. She cupped his face in her hand. His defenses broke.

"What have I done?" his voice shook.

"Don't fret my son, all will be well…but now you need to wake up." Abruptly she stabbed the knife deep into his chest.

**:-:-:-:-:-:**

Don woke screaming. He stood in the miniature kitchen of his hotel room. He'd broken into a cold sweat during the dream. He felt his right hand clenched around a handle. He laboriously dragged his eyes toward his hand. A shiver raked up his spine. He was holding a butcher's knife deep in his abdomen. He slid the knife free quivering with waves of fresh pain, he sank to his knees. Suddenly truly seeing his blood covered hand grasping a bloody knife. He jerked back with a scream, throwing the knife across the room. He never noticed is head hit the counter, or realized that he'd begun to hyperventilate. He only saw flashes of the dream, still vibrant in hin mind. He sat there for what seemed an eternity. Eventually his breathing slowed. When he broke free of his trance like state he was exhausted and soaked in his own blood. He forced himself to shower watching the blood wash away, down the drain. He didn't bother dressing the wound. He didn't have anything to dress it with and he had no money to buy supplies. Wincing he slipped on a fresh shirt.

He walked out of the bathroom and noticed the laptop. He sat down at the small table waiting for the computer to boot-up. It opened up directly to an email account. There was one email received roughly two hours ago title 'Eppes'. Don opened it up concerned at the time lapse between arrival and being opened. _I'd advise you not to sleep through a task again!_ Below were gruesome pictures of Charlie. At first Don saw the shackles from the dream around his brother's wrists, then he rubbed his eyes and saw the simple ropes that bound his brother above the floor. He felt hot tears bun down his face; he'd hurt his brother again. At the bottom it simply told him to wait for his next email. He sat waiting for the message, fighting to stay awake. His eyelids felt so heavy. He got up and paced the room desperate to stay awake, until his torso burned too painfully to stand. It seemed like he'd just sat down when he found himself jerking awake to the blaring announcement of an incoming message. _Stay put._ That was all it said. Confused Don did as it said. He slept fitfully off and on for the next five hours, never sleeping for more then twenty minutes at a time. If he dreamed he gratefully didn't remember the dreams. At the end of the five hours he felt too afraid to sleep for fear of the dream or a missed contact. He wandered the room fighting to stay awake. All the fitful sleep left him just as tired as before. He was surprised to find a six pack of Jolt energy drinks in the fridge. He drank one, but when he felt unaffected he drank another. By the time the knock came at the door, Don had downed the entire six pack and was practically pacing the room at a run; though he was unaware of the fact. He answered the door, a chunk of ice in his gut. Before him stood a huge man with broad shoulders, gigantic muscles, black crew-cut hair, and a blockish head. Don was sure he could swallow him whole if he chose to. He was short and to the point.

"It's time to go"

**A/N: Just because i forgot, this is for the entire story: I Don't Own Them!**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Don followed the large man without question. The man gave him a long chocolate brown trench coat that reached his ankles, and sunglasses. There were two men not quite as large as the man he walked two steps behind, but still capable of towering over him, waited in the front seats of the car. They sat in silence headed towards the unknown destination. He wondered numbly what they had in store for his brother and him. After an eternity the car stopped at the next step fate had placed cruelly in front of him.

**:-:-:-:-:-:**

Terry walked into the bank wearily. She was so tired of not knowing where Don and Charlie were. She couldn't help but feel guilty; Alan didn't know anything was even wrong. He had gone on vacation for three weeks or so and it had been one week already. They would have called Alan to come home, except that no one knew where he went except Don and Charlie, and they were the reason they need the location in the first place. She felt like she was in a tornado, no direction to go but in circles. She stalked through the large bank, weaving between marble columns, towards the shortest line available. Tapping her toe she waited impatiently, eager to leave, she waited to deposit the check.

Terry jumped, dropping to her knees when the gunshots sounded, civilians screaming in fright around her. She quickly located the source of the shots. Three large men accompanied by a smaller man that hung towards the back and unarmed. Everyone in the bank was herded into a nearby corner of the bank by the three large men, while the fourth strangely stood against a column stiffly, watching the others do the work. Sitting near the front of the mass of hostages she watched the fourth closely. She didn't want to admit it, but the stature and what little of the stride she saw looked familiar. If only the collar of the coat were laid flat, and he removed the obnoxiously large, square sunglasses. Then she could confirm she was just being paranoid. As if to read her mind, the largest man told him to remove the glasses, that they weren't needed inside and to straighten his collar, he looked sloppy. She gulped down her anticipation, eager to be proved wrong. Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. _Don._ She spoke his name under her breath before she could stop herself. His head turned toward her.

He looked her in the eye. Terry saw the panic, fear and confusion. He looked towards the other men and back to her. He didn't know what to do. He looked like a deer in headlights. The glasses slipped from his limp hands, clattering loudly on the marble floor. The three men spun around before they could look away. The leader charged Don like a bull seeing red. Don tried to retreat, back-peddling into a marble pillar. He looked more like a scared rabbit than the agent she'd seen a little over a week ago. The man towered over him like a giant over a midget.

"Do you know her?" the man shouted forcefully.

"N-n-no" the man blindsided Don with the butt of his rifle. Don collapsed at his feet holding hid head in agony. Terry clenched her teeth, biting back the rage. She fought the urge to yell at them to leave him alone. He seemed strangely defenseless.

"Don't lie to me Eppes!" he picked Don off the floor pinning him against the pillar by his neck, feet dangling above the ground. He desperately tried to suck in a breath; even the tiniest of breaths would do. His ears rang endlessly.

"Do you know her?" the man's voice was frighteningly calm and quiet. Don shook his head softly, on the precipice of unconsciousness. The man threw him across the room. He didn't fly more than five feet, but he slid ten, barely able to suck in a partial breath before the rifle was slammed into his ribs. Don was barely able to gasp out a 'yes'.

"That's better" he let Don breath for a few minutes before continuing.

"Now, what's her name?"

"T-Terry"

"what?"

"Terry"

"She an agent?" Don didn't answer, instead he rolled forward slightly, his forehead now resting on the cold floor, his eyes rolling around as if of their own accord, consciousness slipping from him. The man grabbed a handful of hair, lifted don's head off the floor and slammed it down again.

"Yetsh" Don slurred. The man stood to his full height again.

"Good, you see that's all I wanted." He bashed Don's head one last time with the gun. Don dropped unconscious before even uttering a cry of pain. The man dragged him back to the column where it had all started and dropped him, sauntering over to where Terry sat. She glared at him openly. If looks could kill, he would be dead ten times over. He simply smiled at her, crouching in front of her.

"I'll be taking the badge, wallet, gun, and cell phone now, if you don't mind."

"But I do mind" he slapped her hard, her eyes seeing sparkles for a moment.

"Do you still mind?"

"Yes" he heaved a sigh and picked her up just as he had done with Don, and searched her until he had the desired items. He dropped her and found a chair, poking through her wallet. His back was turned away from her. The other two men stood dutifully guarding the other thirty or so hostages, paying no attention to her. Why were they so confidant? They acted as if they were immortal, as if they had nothing to fear. She slid over to Don. The first thing she checked was his pulse. It was so rapid she couldn't count fast enough to keep up. At a distance she hadn't noticed, but up close his breathing was ragged, shallow, and matched the speed of his pulse. Her brow furrowed with concern.

"What've they done to you?" she whispered. Don moaned but remained unconscious. Terry practically threw herself back to her spot before the man flipping through her wallet glanced at him. If they suspected she'd moved from her spot, they didn't show it. She looked through the crowd, some what grateful that they had isolated her from the crowd. She found the eyes of the manager, mouthing the word video cameras. A subtle nod from the manager, then she asked about audio, another subtle nod. She saw Don starting to stir in her peripheral vision. She glanced at the clock, shocked to find that nearly an hour had passed, she glanced back at him. He was struggling to sit up, wincing with pain. She had a feeling pain had been a constant companion for him lately. He leaned against the pillar bringing his knees to his chest, arms wrapped protectively around his ribs, staring blankly at the floor. Ten minutes later a tap came from the front glass doors. All three men looked, raising their weapons at the ready. Then they relaxed. On of the two men that guarded the other hostages turned, pulling off the hood of his coat. He was respectably older then the three other he came with. He pointed to Don with his gun.

"Go let them inside boy, and be sure the door gets locked after" Don rose obediently, trying to walk diligently to the door, eyes lowered to the floor. Eight more men walked in, armed with rifles. All but two took positions around the hostages. The remaining two began a conference with the man that dad been sitting in the chair. Don went back to where he'd sat and stared at the floor numbly. The conference ended and Terry saw one of them press the silent alarm.

"Now all we have to do is wait" Twenty minutes later they heard the sirens approach. The tension in the room doubled. Those that had fired shots as a form of intimidation reloaded and produced a second, hidden weapon.

"Eppes! Fasten these to the pillars around the hostages. Three to a pillar." Don trudged to the first column, being careful to keep his eyes lowered. Direct eye contact didn't seem to be a good idea, plus he didn't think he had the courage to look them in the eye. Terry watched don's every movement. A chunk of ice dropped on her when Don pulled out the first stick of dynamite and duct-taped it to the column. She looked back at the leader of the group. She could sit it in the glint in his eyes; he loved demonstrating their power over Don. It madder her grind her teeth together enraged at their delight. Their captor leader glanced towards the door just as Don finished with the dynamite, and scowled. The police had set up base far too close to the door for his comfort. He bit his lip for a moment deep in thought. The he broke into a yellowed, evil grin.

"Eppes" Don jumped at the sound of his name and walked briskly to his caller and handed over the empty dynamite bag. The man scoffed and threw it aside, handing him a smaller bag.

"They're too close. Throw a couple of these into the crowd. If you can still hit them, then they're still too close." Don stood looking at the contents of the bag, horrified. He couldn't move. He was torn with indecision. He thought of what would happen to Charlie if he didn't. his mind chose to proceed, but his body just stood there unmoving. The man huffed, grabbed the bag, and stalked toward the hostages. One handed he pulled a teenage girl up by her hair. Her boyfriend most likely, jumped up to come to her rescue. Three guards swarmed on him, beating him down with the guns. When they were finished he was an unconscious, bloody pulp. The hostages around him shied away like he were a leper. The man held the girl against his chest in front of the now open door, and the girl who was emitting scream like sobs held the bag. He threw grenade after grenade into the crowd. The officers scattered like ants retreating. Terry heard a total of six go off.

Don had stood frozen, still holding an imaginary bag until the second grenade went off. His hands dropped to his sides, his legs buckled beneath him. He crashed to his knees but never registered the pain. He was already numb with anticipation of what was to come. He had failed again. He couldn't bring himself to physically throw the grenades among the people. Mentally he'd done it a hundred times over, but it didn't count doing it in your head. Would they kill Charlie this time? A small part of his mind hoped they would; it would be a mercy to kill him now instead of continue this cycle of torture. When was it time for him to just give up hope and let them kill him? Surely there was no way out of this whirlwind of pain? Before he could answer his own questions two strong arms lifted him and began to drag him to an office. Instinct seemed to kick in and he fought to free himself. He jerked and yanked desperate to be free of those strong hands. Suddenly he let himself drop and the hands were gone. He ran forward three steps when a vicious kick behind his knee felled him.

Terry watched Don fall to the ground in mid-escape. The two men kicked him again and again, Don rolling closer to the office with each kick. All hope of escape scattered to the ends of the earth. Terry thought quickly, she had to do something. Much more of this kind of treatment and they'd beat Don to death. She suddenly thought of an idea, not a good idea, but it would get him out of a bind.

"Hey! You two can't fight an injured man alone; have to go two by two to have a chance at winning? I could whip you both with one hand tied behind my back!" The men stopped and turned to her, scowling. The distraction did the trick. Don was able to get to his feet and rush into the office without further harm.

"We'll get to you when we're done with him" with that they went into the office. Don sat stiffly in the office, holding his ribs. He could feel the stab wound bleeding again and silently hoped that the coat would hide the blood. He couldn't let them know he'd stabbed himself. A man that had already been in the room, worked furiously on the computer, everyone was silent. A few minutes later he rotated to show the screen to Don. On the screen, hanging by his wrists, was Charlie.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Terry bit her lip distractedly. Don had been in there for nearly two hours already. She couldn't hear anything from inside so she didn't think they were beating him, no matter how careful they were that would make noise. She couldn't think of what else they could be doing to him so quietly; if it involved Charlie than it must be a recording, photographs, or the sheer intensity of the threats. They still had no clue to what was really going on, only conjecture. Don was the key to it all. Distracted as she was, she couldn't shut off her agent instinct. She listened in on a phone call made between negotiator and hostile. They mentioned something about a news camera and later mentioned her name. Some time later she saw David and Colby arrive at the scene. Maybe now things would progress more quickly. She jumped when the office door finally opened. The two men held Don between them, practically dragging him along. He was white as a sheet, trembling, and making failed attempts at walking.

They dropped him at the column without a second glance. He didn't have the strength to hold himself upright, melting to the floor, on his side, arms wrapped around himself, and curled into a ball. Terry could see the painful tears fall silently and felt like crying herself, seeing him in so much pain. She openly crawled to him. He couldn't go through this alone. She saw the pain in his eyes full force when she sat beside him. That was the end of her silence, she couldn't stand it.

"What did you do to him!" the leader turned to her.

"To him, nothing"

"Don't lie to me you jackal!"

"Little miss; we want to send you out to get our camera, so you'd better control that temper of yours." Terry held back a number of retorts; if she were going outside even if only to get a camera, that gave her opportunity. After a while she found herself being ignored again. Fools. She signaled to the other hostages the universal sign for phone, with her thumb at her ear and pinky at her mouth. She saw a small rivulet ripple through the crowd. She crept over to the nearest hostage who slipped her the phone. The phone was quickly spirited out of sight and Terry crept back to Don. It worried her that in the short time it took her to get the phone that he'd fallen unconscious and gone limp. She checked his pulse; just as rapid as before if not more, and he felt feverish to her. He was worsening the longer time went by without getting him help. She had to wonder if they were drugging him in some fashion. He worries left un-assuaged she turned her attention back to the phone. The owner had brought up text messaging and left her a note. _Phone on Silent,_ that relieved her a bit. She added to the message with her own message, _send tracker for skin on underside of camera,_ to David's phone, then she sent the number of hostiles and hostages. That was all she got done before the leader came over. It was time to get the camera. She looked down at Don, he was still unconscious. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a new message on the phone from David, _Done_. She had to jog to keep up with their long strides but she refused to look like anything but what she was, an agent. She walked with a measured step, pausing when she grabbed the camera to tuck the tracker out of sight. When she returned, the camera was snatched away and she was shoved back to Don. She made short work of attaching the tracker between his shoulder blades. He felt warmer than when she'd last checked. Now she knew for sure that he was getting worse, but what was wrong exactly she didn't know. When he came in he'd been uninjured, but how could the beating give him the fever and accelerated heart rate? The breathing difficulty was explainable, after all a broken rib, which he probably had a few, could make breathing very difficult. She stretched him out on his back hoping it would help a little. He groaned wincing and settled again. She glanced at the clock fighting off her irritation. First time was speeding away and now it was dragging along. Only twenty minutes since Don had gone limp. A new sobbing from the hostages drew her attention from Don. Two teenage girls were on their knees, hands tied behind their backs, in front of the camera, about a foot apart from each other. The leader of the hostiles stood ominously, wearing a ski mask and holding his rifle. They switched the camera on and the broadcast began.

"Welcome Americans to our little operation. If the press has been diligent today you already know that my associates and I are holding some thirty or forty hostages, one being one of your federal agents. Now if this were really about the money, we'd be gone already. No. It's so much more. Our little unit is moving into the big league, and we demand respect. We will be demonstrating our power tomorrow at ten in the morning. But for now you have hostages to save. We have transport on the way. If any shots are fired from either side before we are safely out of reach we will kill two hostages for each shot, same thing goes for any agents that get too close, and just so you know we're serious…" he shot both girls in the back of the head. Terry looked away sickened, swallowing back the bile. When she looked up again two new hostages sat, bound, behind the girls' bodies. The shot jarred Don, he blinked owlishly, looking around confused.

"Hey Don, are you okay?" That look of deer-in-the-headlights panic reappeared and he forced himself to roll onto his stomach and sit up, inching away as he went. She saw distrust written all over his face. He didn't trust anyone anymore. "Don, we can help you, but you have to come back." Don looked her in the eye for the first time without shrinking away.

"I can't." That was the first he'd spoken to her. He wanted so desperately to give in, ask for help. He needed help so desperately and he knew it. He wanted to trust her, he knew he should but she couldn't help him, no one could help him. There was no way out of this alive for his brother, or for himself. Better to just let it happen when it happened, after all, delaying just put his brother through more pain, alone. He felt the tears of hopeless frustration begin to surface again. He tried to take a deep breath, the tears receded but the breath sent him into a coughing fit. He gritted his teeth against the inferno raging through his torso. He looked around to see the changes that were made while he slept. He saw the corpses of the teen girls and the tears of the hostages sitting next to them.

He had to do something. It was selfish of him to sit around and wait for them to kill his brother and him while others that still had a hope were senselessly murdered. He felt a fire grow inside of him. It was a strange fire much unlike the fevered fire spreading like acid massing from the stab wound. He felt determined; he felt enraged. For the first time in a long time, he felt like an agent again; like he was before all this began. He still felt the fear, the terror, but he pushed it aside, just for these few moments and let his rage consume him, driving his every movement, his every thought; jus for this moment, he was a man without sanity. He subconsciously heard the approach of the transports, helicopters. He seemed to see everything in photographs; old, crinkled, black and white photographs browning at the edges. He was a man possessed. He was the men coming to hit him and take him back to that awful hotel probably. He saw himself side-step the meaty hand grasping at him. He watched as he stole the handgun from the back of the guy's jeans, back-peddling away at speeds he didn't know he had in reverse.

He turned the gun from one man to the next, unsure of which were more dangerous and needing to be taken out with the gun. He barely saw Terry's shocked expression. The seconds passed by at the speed of light, there was no time for thought or rationality, only action. Terry had jumped up to join the rebellion. Her struggle went well at first, but through sheer size and superior strength, he was able to wrap his dense, sausage-fingers around her throat and squeeze. Don saw the overturn of the struggle against them, he heard the horrid shot, and watched Terry sink to the floor. He deftly turned and emptied the clip into the guy standing over her. He found himself collapsing in unison with the man, pain exploding through the back of his skull, the world flashing white; he knew nothing more.

**:-:-:-:-:-:**

Terry laid there, her world spinning. She couldn't let herself lose consciousness now. She watched the heel of the last hostile disappear. They were gone, escaped again. She dragged herself to her feet, panting from the exertion, staggering to the door. The people stared, still too terrified to move or think. She told the get up, to leave, but they still stared dumbly at her.

"Do you want to stay and wait for the dynamite to go off?" That got them moving instantaneously. She made sure those that were injured were helped out. Somewhere in the rush she got sucked through the door. Moments later the dynamite went off. The blast was deafening. Boulders of marble, insulation, and tile crashed, scattering like sand. Only about half of the hostages had made it out before the explosion. Once the dust cleared a swarm of emergency personnel rushed to the injured and those still trapped beneath the rubble. David found Terry with her shirt off, arguing with the paramedic about a trip to the hospital. She was victorious. The paramedic openly grumbled, but tightly bandaged her torso and stalked away grumpily to the next patient. Before he could get a word out, Megan was already half way to her car. He ran after her.

"Terry, Terry!" She slipped on a spare shirt from her car.

"What?"

"Who was the tracker for Terry?"

"Don" He was shocked at the answer. That was the last answer he'd expected to hear. Colby had overheard the conversation and rushed to the car. Terry pulled out the car keys about to climb in tenderly when David snatched them away and slipped inside.

"You've been shot, the least you can do is let me drive." Colby climbed in the sack seat silently, intent on living through the day. Terry glared at David for a moment before climbing into the passenger seat gingerly. The car ride was silent. When they arrived Terry brought up the tracking program. They watched quietly for an unknown amount of time until the signal stopped and held position. They were off immediately. The destination was an hour and a half away. It was time to bring Don home.

**:-:-:-:-:-:**

Don woke feeling miserable. He immediately wanted to fall back asleep and never wake. His head was pounding. He felt like his very blood and skin was on fire. He heard himself groan. A chill ran through him when he was answered by a chuckle. His eyes popped open. He wriggled his arms and found them cuffed behind him, to the chair he sat in. Of course, he had killed the guy that shot Terry. They'd probably killed Charlie, and now, this man that stared and laughed at him, was here to kill him. They were done with him, and now he was dead. He didn't fight it. He didn't try to stall for time or formulate a plan to escape. He just let it come, and come it did. The man punched him in the ribs over and over again. When Don began to wheeze for breath the man smacked him in the face. He saw brown spots dance before his eyes like the demon dance from the TV static, he saw so long ago. He sagged against the handcuffs. He felt blood drip off his fingertips and again saw the dream. The man had stopped. He was walking around the room. Don didn't bother following the man's movements. In a moment he returned the same butcher knife that Don had stabbed himself with, dried blood still pasted on the blade.

He said something but Don didn't hear; his ears were ringing. The knife pierced deep into his flesh. He couldn't hold back a cry of pain when the knife twisted around. He cried again when the knife plunged again, twisted again, and was gone. He found himself falling backwards but didn't remember hitting the ground. He did however remember the foot pressing against his abdomen catching each and every stab wound, blood oozing out from under the Frankenstein foot. Suddenly he was free of restraint lying next to the now upright chair. His world was spinning. Everything was surreal. He laid there until the man was gone. He didn't know how but he somehow got the torn shirt off, wiping away the blood and putting on the last fresh shirt he had. The last thing he remembered was crawling onto the bed, leaning against the rotting wall, drawing his knees to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs, ignoring the pain it caused him as he fell into his head.

**:-:-:-:-:-:**

Terry crept up the stairs of the grimy hotel, gun drawn. Colby and David followed like shadows. Her heart thudded, threatening to burst out of her chest. She prayed silently that Don was still here and still alive. She approached the door to his room tensely. Testing the door, finding it unlocked. She opened the door slowly. There was only one person in the room, Don. He was sitting where the headboard of the bed should have been, in the center of the bed, knees drawn to his chest, his arms holding his legs, rocking back and forth, staring blankly, whispering something to himself, covered in deep purple and black bruises. Her heart broke. She holstered her weapon and sat in front of him.

"Don. Don. Come on Don I need you to talk to me" He continued to rock back forth, whispering to himself. She listened closely for a moment trying to hear his words.

"Can't stop, can't stop, can't stop, can't stop, can't stop…" she frowned. Had they actually driven him insane?

"Don. Don. What can't you stop, Don?" To her absolute shock, he answered. He looked her in the eyes, his eyes still empty.

"The screams" Terry visibly shuddered. David and Colby stood aghast. She physically moved Don, working to make him stand. She had to get him out of this hotel now. They could call the ambulance at the car. David and Colby had gone to double check that Don had been alone. They were out of sight in the kitchen. Terry managed to get Don to stand. He gave in to her every command and pressure form her hands. He took two steps and collapsed, barely missing the chair with his head.

"Colby call the ambulance!" They rushed back into the room. Terry had seen the blood and pulled his shirt off. His entire torso was covered in copious amounts of blood. She had to wipe away some of the blood with the shirt just to see the source. He had three dangerously deep stab wounds. He was black and blue all over his abdomen and chest. The worst stab wound was bleeding heavily, oozing puss, surrounded by purple, black, and blue. It had a fiery red center, and dozens of thick red rivulets snaking crookedly away from the wound up to his chest and shoulder. He tossed his head weakly, his eyes at half mast. She put pressure on the wound that bled the heaviest. Don moaned and struggled to escape her administrations. Blood and puss oozed over her hands sickeningly, forcing her to look at Don's face in order to keep from throwing up. Don's struggles grew weaker, he sweated thickly, began to tremble, and was hot to the touch. His head abruptly flopped to one side motionless and his body went slack.

"Don. Don" Terry checked his pulse. It was erratic and growing fainter each moment. She still held his wrist keeping track of his pulse while trying to control the bleeding. She never though she'd be so happy to hear the sirens of an ambulance. The minute they took over Don she ran to the bathroom washing away the puss and blood, the feeling still burning on her hands after. She followed the paramedics to the ambulance, sitting at Don's head. She heard snatches of what the paramedics were saying about his condition to each other but nothing more.

"Concussion…has broken ribs…shock…high fever…non-responsive…" At the hospital he was whisked away and she was left alone to do one thing…wait.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Please note that i'm staggering the arrival of Megan and Colby...Colby has arrived sooner than in the official timeline...Megan will arrive later...but for all intensive purposes in this story Colby was around while Terry was still here...i apoligize for the confusion...i didn't realize until recently that Megan and Colby came at the same time.**

Chapter 8

Terry had her wound treated while waiting as Don was attended. As she thought they would do they gave her fresh bandaging and a couple of antibiotics and a mild pain reliever. She went back to waiting. No matter how urgent the case, hospitals are never fast. She was all too eager when a doctor came out.

"How is he?"

"He's suffering from blood poisoning, concussion, three broken ribs, two racked ribs, severe wide-spread infection, a punctured appendix that will be removed when we get an open o.r and he had a 104 degree fever holding strong. We've given him a cocktail of antibiotics to combat the infection and fever, but so far they don't see to be taking affect."

"May I see him?"

"Of course, there is one other matter…"

"What?"

"One of the stab wounds looks to be self-inflicted" Terry nodded. She was stunned. She walked into the room, alone, the doctor having left for other duties. Don seemed to be unconscious so she went out and called Colby.

"Granger"

"Hey Colby, it's me"

"How's Don doing?"

"Not good, he's got some broken ribs, concussion, punctured appendix, blood poisoning, wide-spread infection, and a high fever that won't break. How are things on your end?"

"Well, we've found a couple of things in the room" Colby hesitated.

"What Colby"

"We found a box. It had ten fingernails and toenails. Forensics checked them…they're Charlie's" Terry felt the crushing sinking feeling take hold.

"Anything else?"

"There was a laptop with a message on it…to us."

"And?" he read the note word for word

_If you want answers, ask Don, he knows everything_

"Great, that means I have to interrogate Don, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, I don't envy your position"

"Alright, I'll call you when I have something" She hung up and joined Don again. Everything that had happened was just going so wrong, so fast. It made her want to cry seeing such a close friend in so much pain. Even in a fevered unconsciousness he couldn't have peace. His head tossed weakly and he mumbled verbalization of a dream but nothing she could understand. It unnerved her, made her insecure seeing how fast someone, a fellow agent, could be dragged down to such a pitiable state in every aspect. It showed that the fragile mortality was as delicate as spider webbing if not more. She dreaded having to ask Don the necessary questions. She found that she didn't want to know the answers. She had lots of questions, but none that she wanted an answer to. The dream grew more intense and he tossed his head more violently, the shiver escalating into trembles. She stood over him. "Don. Don. Come on Don, wake up, it's just a dream. Open your eyes."

He moaned faintly, grimacing, fighting the dream. She repeated herself to him. His head ceased tossing, though he continued to tremble, and his eyes cracked open. He dragged his eyes around his surroundings. He looked lost, confused, and frightened. Eve with the raging fever, infections, and high doses of morphine, his grasp on reality didn't falter. "Don, can you hear me?" he nodded, "I need you to tell me, she paused, she didn't want to hear what he said, "I need you to tell me what happened." She knew that wasn't the real question, but she couldn't bring herself to directly interrogate him. She hoped she would learn what she needed in the round-about way. He drew his hand off the bed a few inches pretending to write in the air. Terry rushed, putting a pad of paper under his hand and a pen in it, making sure he could easily reach it. His hand shook as he struggled to write each letter.

Terry was beginning to wonder if she should have left him alone and asked him these questions until he could speak. She read the first statement.

"_Cant' Stop_" she gulped.

"What can't you stop?"

"_killing him_"

"Who?" she already knew

"_Charlie_" She could see him fading back to sleep. She hated herself for not letting him, but she had to ask the question now.

"Don, the demonstration tomorrow, what is it? His face scrunched, trying to find the answer. They were silent for nearly five minutes before he found the answer.

"_Bomb, nuclear_" Terry's heart dropped; when they said they wanted to demonstrate their power, they really meant it. Don was writing again. "_Where_"

"You're at the hospital, you're safe now" she held his hand be she could feel him shying fearfully from her touch. He painfully raised his other hand to touch the oxygen mask. The heart monitor clipped to his finger slipped away, the machine not sensing a pulse reverted to a flat line. Don's reaction was instant. He bolted upright crawling away from her and the machine as fast as he could. He crawled right off the bed, landing hard on his wrist, he cried out using the hand he landed on to hold his side while he used the other to aid him in scooting panicked backwards, looking frantically about until his back was against a wall. The ivs swung uselessly like pendulums through the air. The tube for his blood transfusion snaked across the floor with the bag and pole, blood seeping across the floor. He sat against the wall hyperventilating.

Terry dove after him the moment she saw him fall. She saw his eyes land on the machine showing the flat line. A drove of nurses pushed her aside and tried to calm him, but he was too far gone, too deep in his head. They plunged the needle in quickly but not viciously. Don slumped forward against the nearest nurse as the drug took affect. They got him back onto the bed and rolled him out.

"He's broken his wrist. We're taking him to get an x-ray. Also, is he a criminal we need to be worried about?" he held the pad of paper up for her to see. She flushed with anger at Don being called a criminal.

"No!" she snapped, "he's a victim"

"Fine, he'll be out for hours with the dose we gave him"

"If anything changes, call me at this number" she handed him a paper with her cell phone number, walking out when he nodded. She drove to the office, constantly glancing at the words on the paper. Several of the words popped into her mind shutting the others out. _Killing Charlie_ echoed in her mind. He truly thought he was the one killing his brother. She trudged into the conference room with David and Colby, tossing the paper onto the table, landing her head onto the table with little effort to soften the blow. "Tell me you two have something good, and I mean really good"

"I'm guessing things didn't go well with Don"

"He thinks he's killing Charlie"

"He talked to you?"

"Our entire conversation is on that paper" If her head weren't on the table she would have seen them blanch as they read the paper.

"Is he improving physically?"

"No, he broke his wrist while I was there."

"What happened?" Terry recounted the details of her visit including the fact that the staff thought Don a criminal despite her rebuttal. They sat in a strange silence for a time before Megan directed a fresh direction of discussion.

"Did you two find anything?"

"Yeah, the guy Don shot down at the bank, he is part of an organization that started out under the disguise of being a gang. They later became a drug dealing group and a year or two ago devoted a branch of the organization completely to terrorist activities. They use the drug dealing branch as the money maker, the gang as the public figure, and the terrorist branch is the secret backbone power. For the sake of a name they were dubbed the J.R unit."

"Why is it called the J.R unit?" Terry asked.

"Because it is believed that the founder and number one man of the organization is a man named Jasper Riddick, though no one has actually been able to connect him to any crime both related and unrelated to the unit" an agent entered the room and handed Colby a folder. He flipped through it for a moment. "Good, we've got a location and a warrant." He turned a page in the file frowning.

"What's wrong?"

"It a warehouse, an infamous one at that."

"Why?"

"It's the equivalent of a fortress. There have been three attempts to bring it down in the past. The first attempt, ten people out of thirty came back alive, the second attempt twenty out of fifty came back alive" Colby looked at the info, "the third attempt used an unheard of strike force with over eighty men, including snipers and swat, no survivors." A heavy silence filled the room. How could they get Charlie home now? They didn't have those kinds of numbers.

"Call every department and office, local or not, this is going to take the cooperation of every department." David and Colby worked furiously calling up the heads of every department and office, setting up a conference to plan the plan of attack. Terry went back to the hospital to ask Don just a few more questions that couldn't wait. When she got there a nurse had been about to sedate him but she convinced her to wait another ten minutes or so and then gave them some privacy. She leaned over to wear Don could see her.

"Terry" his voice was barely a whisper.

"Hey Don, are you doing okay?"

"Tired…hurts"

"Well you just keep resting and you'll pull through." Don shook his head weakly.

"Don't deserve to live…couldn't save him…not strong enough…"

"Don, don't do this, don't give up. You deserve very much to live."

"Why? I killed Charlie"

"Don, do you remember at the bank when you shot that man?" Don thought for a moment and nodded, "You saved my life. He was aiming a second shot at my head. If you hadn't done that one thing I would be dead and we wouldn't know where Charlie is right now. That took strength." Don shook his head whispering his disagreement. Terry shifted the direction the conversation was headed. She had to get an answer and Don was already struggling to stay awake. "Don, I need you to do something for me. Do you know about the warehouse, the one Charlie's being held at?"

"Don't know where it is though" his head started to loll to the side, reality edging away.

"That's okay Don. Do you know if they have the bomb there too?" Don nodded weakly. Megan hoped he would last a little longer. She was surprised when he added to the nod.

"Be there till an hour before the demo…" Don suddenly went limp. A nurse checked him and said that he would be slipping in and out like that for a while. That was why they were sedating him, so he could get quality rest. There was nothing she could do here, at least at the office she was of some use. She arrived just as David and Colby were starting the meeting for the raid. She sat quietly listening to everything discussed, informing them of what Don knew on the bomb. Many of the group was discouraged and reluctant to make the raid at all. A few had been among the survivors of the first two attempts and had the many scars to prove it. The head count of the adversaries at the warehouse was unknown, but estimations of the raiding party headcount was always in the numbers of three hundred. A strike force was unheard of; it was more of a small army. She hoped it would be enough.

An hour into the meeting Terry's cell phone range; It was the hospital. She rose and stepped a good ways away from the table, trying not to disturb anyone. They stopped and waited quietly anyways. Her heart sank at the doctor's report. She ended the call quickly a new sense of urgency to the meeting. Colby and David looked at her questioningly. She pursed her lips momentarily.

"Don is in a coma. They say he has damage to his kidneys they didn't see before; he's going to need a transplant soon" They redoubled their efforts. It was time to bring these crooks down.

**:-:-:-:-:-:**

The air was brisk and furious, whipping through their Kevlar vests like tissue paper. Rain pelted them, stinging like needles, black ominous clouds booming and flashing overhead. Colby fought down a shiver. An armada of ambulances sat like sharks waiting in the distant horizon. He gritted his teeth against the cold. He had to stay focused. He had the most important mission of everyone here; find Charlie, protect Charlie, and get him out of there as swiftly as possible. That was really all this raid was about to him; finding Charlie. He crept towards the side door to the warehouse, quiet like a cat, gun in one hand just below eye level. He stood behind the door, waiting for the green light. The plan was to go in hot and heavy, using the element of surprise to their advantage. The idea was blown out of the water when a shrill siren sounded steadily. Colby burst through the door, guns blazing. Agents pored through almost every door. Colby kept his focus. Find Charlie. He kept his cool despite adrenaline rushing through his body, blood boiling.

He systematically searched room for room, most being empty offices, dispatching aggressors on occasion. After a long while of fruitless searching and dodging wild bullets, Colby stopped to get his bearings. He looked around him, narrowing down the possible locations where Charlie might be held. Suddenly he saw a room a medium distance away from him, straight ahead of him. It had a heating unit for the room, just like every other room he'd been inside, but for some reason, his instincts told him that was where Charlie was being held. He went with his instinct even though there was nothing different about his room from the rest. He pause in front of the door. He didn't hear anything within. He opened the door swiftly assaulted by a wall of hot, dry air. The room was pitch black. He cautiously ran his hand along the wall until he found a switch and flipped the lights on.

His heart stopped. Charlie. To his left Charlie hung above the ground by his wrists, tied with thin wire. His toes, without the nails, pointed down at the floor, mere inches from being able to touch. Blood seeped from his wrists, hi head hung forward limply, hair shrouding his face. Colby ran to him, pulling out the knife he'd brought in his pocket. He cut the wire around his wrists. Charlie collapsed against him soundlessly. Colby would have preferred a groan, whimper, or even him crying out, something to show he was still alive. He gently lowered him to the floor, getting a better detail of the masses of injuries Charlie had. His torso was swollen immeasurably, black and blue, covered with numerous burns small and large, cuts and gashes seeped blood slowly. His face was swollen on one half, his lip split in several places, and large burns surrounded him mouth, running down to the back of his neck. Colby removed the blindfold that was like a potato sack and was tied so tightly that he had to cut the knot to get it off.

Beneath the skin was rubbed raw, cracked and bleeding freely. He had a black eye that was quite impressive. Colby was unsure where to check for a pulse; Charlie's wrists were shredded and his neck was covered in cuts and burns; he chose the neck. There was no pulse. Colby proceeded with CPR furiously. They didn't come here to collect his body.

"C'mon Charlie, breathe" He suddenly coughed weakly and began breathing as if on command, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He moaned faintly, head listing to one side. Colby felt overjoyed. "I've got Charlie, make a hole, he needs an ambulance immediately" He paused for a response on the radio.

"We're working on it, stay put." Colby looked down at Charlie, he was conscious. His eyes darted around the room frantically, struggling to move, mumbling words barely audible, but Colby heard.

"No…no…stop…get away…please…stop…" tears streamed down his face as he desperately tried to crawl away, but his arms and legs wouldn't work, they were broken.

"Charlie, it's okay, calm down, you're safe now, it's me, Colby" his face contorted in confusion.

"Colby?"

"Yeah, you remember me, Colby" Charlie went limp but didn't lose consciousness. His eye lost focus and he began mumbling again.

"No…get way…stop…please…hurts…stop" He tossed his head violently, renewing his effort to escape. He couldn't let them get him; not again. He felt so weak. Why couldn't he move his arms? He couldn't even feel his legs; If he still had legs to feel. The terror was overwhelming. Colby could see Charlie had slipped into delirium. He had to get him out now. He tried one last time to calm Charlie. Charlie's panic and terror only seemed to mount, tears streaming swiftly down his face. Colby couldn't stand to see Charlie so frightened; he wiped away the tears gently. Charlie suddenly calmed and it looked as if what Colby had told him was finally understood. His eyes sluggishly turned to Colby. His words slurring near incoherently, but Colby understood.

"C-Colby…scared… don't…let…them…get…met…hurts"

"I know it hurts, but I need you to stay with me okay" Charlie nodded weakly. "Good, I'm going to have to stand you up so we can get you to the hospital, okay, I'm gonna carry you out." Charlie slipped back into delirium but never got Colby confused for his attackers again. He mumbled to himself frightened.

"Don't let…them…hurt me…scared…hurts…Don…" Colby tried to pick the best way to carry Charlie out but couldn't find anything unharmed. He eventually sat him up, choosing to lace the left arm behind his neck and let Charlie's right arm which was misshapen and so swollen the skin was splitting of it's on volition, hang dead at his side. Colby wrapped his free arm around Charlie's waist, the skin depressing unnaturally deep without an unbroken rib to stop it.

"Okay Charlie, here we go," he stood quickly to his feet hustling towards the door. Charlie nearly screamed as the pain exploded all over his body as they stood. Colby knew he had to go as fast as possible, throwing any semblance of sparing Charlie pain when they stood and Charlie screamed in pain and went limp, hanging as low as Colby's restraining arms would let him and as far forwards as he could go. He was able to nearly run carrying Charlie; he made himself strong enough to run carrying him. Charlie's life depended on his speed. It wasn't too long before they had to stop because Charlie couldn't breathe standing up, so they dived behind a stack of crates. They nearly knocked David out from behind the stack.

"WOA! Oh, it's you" Colby ignored David's shock at suddenly being joined in his hideout. Charlie coughed and gasped for air the moment he was laying flat, settling into semi-steady, raspy breaths. "Oh man Charlie" David was astounded at Charlie's condition. Bullets pinged all around them, David giving a few shots in return when he could. Charlie's head rolled side to side getting weaker each moment, mumbling incoherently, soon reduced to weak moans, his skin extremely hot and dry, a steady flow of blood from his right shoulder. Colby lifted Charlie up just enough to see the shoulder. It was a deep puffy red, oozing a greenish-yellow pus in lumps as well as liquid mingled with blood, crimson tendrils etching all down and across his back and up to his elbow where it tapered off. Colby realized that his left foot was doing the same, though the sweat pants didn't allow him to see how far the tendrils reached, and he could see the piece of glass just barely visible amidst the swollen flesh.

Colby called for a stretcher to wait just outside the door for them, over the radio. Then he picked up a limp Charlie, moaning with every exhale, unconscious, and went at a dead run towards the door. The moment they were safely out the door, to his amazement, he lowered Charlie onto a stretcher, rushing to the ambulance. Charlie whimpered as sheets of icy rain pelted down on his fevered body, remaining unconscious. They jumped into the ambulance and sped away.

The medics removed his clothes from his trembling body and covered him with a thin cloth that covered from mid-thigh to hip and went to work immediately. One medic set his legs and arms, applying splints while the other removed the glass from his foot and wedged a straw sized hose into the gash, cleansing the wound. A mixture of lumps of puss the same greenish-yellow and blood flushed from the wound. They put Colby to work doing the same task with the hose on the bullet wound in Charlie's shoulder, lumps of puss as large as big marshmallows were cleansed from his shoulder. It sickened him to see Charlie in such poor condition. He made himself keep from getting sick. He removed the straw when only blood came out of the wound and placed a bandage on it as instructed. Both paramedics were working on an extremely large burn that stretched from just below his armpit to mid-waist and ebbed across his abdomen. Overall it was about the size of a dinner plate. They were cleaning the burn, flesh charred and black crumbling away like chipped paint. Until this point Charlie had been unconscious but now he was awake, eyes darting wildly about.

Charlie woke to the peeling of flesh. Agony scoured all through his body. He had to escape. He couldn't take anymore pain. He struggled to sit up, his body screaming out at him from the pain it caused him. A hand constantly pushed him down again. Soon his energies fro struggles were depleted, his body giving out on him, though his grip on consciousness remained surprisingly and faithfully strong. Colby saw Charlie regain consciousness in a panic, struggling to escape the painfully cleansing administrations of the paramedics. Delirium maintained a strong grip over him. The last struggle he put forth was the most successful as he attained sitting on weak elbows before falling back under the gentle pressure of Colby's hands, his strength having failed him. He lay slack, his eyes still flitting frantically about, his cries of pain muffled by the oxygen mask and the hiss of air escaping it, agonized tears telling true of the monumental pain he resided within. At long last they arrived at the hospital. Colby stayed with Charlie up to the double doors where a nurse pushed him away behind the red line that none could cross. He watched helplessly until Charlie had disappeared behind a corner. The copious amounts of bile he had swallowed back on the way, breached his defenses and he emptied his stomach in the nearest trash can. He went to Don's room where Terry sat in silent reverie. She turned to acknowledge his presence but he cut her off before a syllable escaped her lips.

"We found Charlie"


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Colby and Terry sat in the waiting room, waiting for what seemed like forever for word on Charlie. Terry had been able to tell that Charlie was in bad shape just by looking at Colby's blood soaked clothes mingled with what looked like greenish-yellow substance, puss maybe? He hadn't been able to stand the feel of the blood and had gone home to change and returned in record time that was probably aided by sirens. Time ticked by quite slowly, unbelievably slow, as Colby reiterated Charlie's rescue and the ride in the ambulance. Terry had gone white long before he was finished. Suddenly she found herself praying for Charlie's survival, to herself. She knew that it would kill Don if Charlie didn't pull through, it still might kill him even if he did live. After what seemed forever, the sun rose and the doctor came out, having finished doing what he could for Charlie. The list of injuries and damage was astronomical. The infection alone was enough to kill him. They went to see him in his room. He was easily in critical condition and had dozens of tubes leading in and out of his body, the artificial whoosh of ventilator breathing for him, his skin terribly pale now that the blood had been washed away, and immeasurable amounts of gauze bandaging numerous wounds. He twitched and jerked weakly, head rolling from side to side occasionally in an unknown fevered dream. Colby chose to sit with him while Terry sat with Don.

Colby sat, watching Charlie struggle to escape the dream in which he was trapped, hoping that things would go back to normal. Charlie looked like he was in extreme pain and misery and he wished he could do something about it, but he was helpless. There was nothing he could do. Charlie settled wearily, deeper in sleep, the dream having faded away beyond recognition. Every now and then a silent tear would slip from his eyes and Colby would quickly wipe them away, it was the least he could do.

**:-:-:-:-:-:**

Alan got out of the cab, grabbing his luggage quickly and paying the driver. He had thought it odd that he hadn't been able to get a hold of either Don or Charlie when he was at the airport and ended up having to take a cab. They were probably off doing something and not expecting him back, he was early after all. He'd had fun, but he missed his sons too much and had cut the trip short, something in his gut told him to come home early. He dragged the luggage up to the door letting it drop as he fished for his keys. They seemed to be getting heavier with every step he took and his arms were grateful to be rid of the luggage. He dropped it all in the entry way and walked through the house looking for Charlie. The first thing he noticed was that the couch, coffee table, and TV were all gone. He went into the kitchen and saw several holes in the wall, the counter was chipped, and when he went to the dining room table a chunk off the corner was missing and there was a man sitting at the table he didn't recognize. He took a startled step back.

"Who are you!" He glared at the man menacingly.

"Hello Mr. Eppes, I'm Agent Rawlings, I'm sorry if I startled you, I was told to stay at the house in case you came home early." Alan eyed him suspiciously.

"Why were you needed at my home? Where are my sons, Don and Charlie?" The man looked weary and high strung, with a sympathetic look he sighed.

"If you'll allow me to drive you to the hospital the agent in charge there will explain everything."

"The hospital…what happened? Where are my sons? Are they okay?" Alan tried to fight the panic rising up. He followed the agent to the car and rode to the hospital in an awkward silence. When they arrived he was brought to a hospital room. The agent ducked his head inside and spoke to someone inside the room. Moments later, Terry emerged. She looked exhausted. She was barely able to flash him a sympathetic smile.

"Hello Alan, I'm glad to see you home safely." He tried to keep the panic down but it was starting to overwhelm him. Why wasn't it Don or Charlie out talking to him.

"Terry, where are my sons? Where is Don and Charlie?" She bit her lip.

"A lot has happened these two weeks. We don't know a lot about what happened, but I will tell you what I can." He started to interrupt but she stopped him so he listened impatiently, " Charlie and Don disappeared a little over a week ago. We think Charlie disappeared first and then Don, but not by much if at all. Now we don't know all the details but we do know that Charlie had been kidnapped and was used to manipulated Don. We found Don a day or two ago and Charlie was found late last night." The panic consumed Alan.

"Are they alright, what happened? I need to see them where are they?" Terry sighed.

"Don is in this room here, but I must let you know that he's in pretty bad shape, he went through a pretty tough beating. He's in a coma now." Alan stood and marched in to the room, fighting for control over himself. His son was in far worse condition then he ever could have imagined. He lowered himself shakily to the chair next to his son. Don was unconscious, an oxygen mask hissing loudly, his skin hot to the touch, a constant shiver racked his son's body, and he was paler than the sheet that covered him.

"Don…son, please wake up. I'm here now, your father is here for you now, but please just wake up." He brushed the hair from his eyes even though it was too short for that and kissed his forehead. Don continued to sleep unresponsive to his father's call. Alan could see wads of gauze on his son's abdomen but didn't know the nature of his injury. He could however see the numerous black and blue, swollen bruises that covered his abdomen, chest, and face. His son had definitely gone through a bad beating. He sat with Don for a while, holding his hand, feeling helpless. "Where is Charlie?" he whispered.

"He's in a room the next floor up. Colby is sitting with him…do you want me to take you to him now?" Alan could only nod and followed Terry up to another room. Colby jumped to a stand when he entered the room. He stepped aside quickly so Alan to get to Charlie. Alan's lip trembled at the sight of Charlie. He was almost entirely covered in bandages, a ventilator breathed for him, tubes snaked through his son's body in a coil, he was paler than he could ever imagine, what little of is skin he could see that wasn't pale near transparency was deep blacks and purple, a thick layer of sweat trickled down his skin, and he shivered, head tossing almost imperceptibly, eyes darting beneath his eyelids. Every now and then Alan could hear what he thought might be a moan as the ventilator exhaled for his son. He let the tears drop silently.

"What did they do to him?" his voice shook as he spoke but he didn't care.

"We don't know, but we're going to find out." Even though Terry had only whispered the answer, Alan had heard the conviction and restrained rage in her voice. It seemed to give him strength. A nurse entered the room and whispered something to Terry. She excused herself and left the room. Picking up the phone indicated delicately.

"Hello."

"Hey Terry, it's David, I'm calling to let you know that we found tapes, lots of tapes. They all have Charlie's name on them. I think you should see these when you get a chance." Terry gulped quietly. She didn't really want to see what was on those tapes.

"Okay David, ummm…Alan is here at the hospital so once I get him settled I'll drop by, do you need me to bring Colby?"

"If he's available, but if he can't get here it'll be okay, I watched the first tape already, but I'm not really wanting to see the rest." Terry understood completely.

"Okay, we'll be there as soon as possible" Terry went back into the room. Alan sat, doing what he could to hold Charlie's hand, but almost everything was injured and it was difficult. He didn't look up when she came back.

"I'm going to go back to Don. I can't do anything here right now…but I might be able to help Don." Colby and Terry made sure Alan got back to Don undisturbed before she pulled Colby aside and informed him about the phone call. They explained where they were going to Alan and told him to call if anything was needed and left. Alan stayed, talking to Don, urging him to wake up. He reassured him that he was safe and that his father was there to protect him. Don remained unresponsive but Alan didn't let himself be discouraged. He kept up hope because he had to, Don needed him and he had every intention of being there for his son. This was where he had to be.

**A/N: Well there is chapter nine. You are officially caught up. When I started posting I had the first eight chapters already written up and only needing to be typed. Now none of us no where this will end(I have a really good idea though). I hope you enjoyed, sorry for the wait. Enjoy1**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Alan sat with Don, willing, praying, asking him to wake up. He didn't know the particulars of his son's injuries yet, but he knew it wasn't good. His son still shivered uncontrollably but remained silent. Alan begged his son to wake. He needed to hear Don's voice.

"Don, son, please, wake up. I need you to wake up." Nothing "Donnie, I'm here, your father is here. I need you to wake up." He stirred a little. Alan's hopes rose considerably and he tried again and again to coax Don into waking.

**:-:-:-:-:-:**

Don felt like he was in a fog. Everything was dark and hot. He felt like he was on fire. He could hear someone talking to him. He clawed desperately trying to wake up. Why was it so hard? Everything felt so heavy, he didn't even consider being able to lift his head, but he did however force his eyelids to open, very slowly.

**:-:-:-:-:-:**

Alan had been overjoyed to see his son's glassy eyes open slowly. He couldn't help but wonder again what had happened these past two weeks.

"Dad?" Alan smiled.

"Yeah son, I'm here, your father is here." Don looked around for a moment. Then he suddenly shot straight up.

"Dad!" He fell back gripping his stomach, fire searing through him. He didn't want to cry out, but the pain was so bad, he couldn't stop himself. He heard his father calling the doctor.

"It's okay son, the doctor will be here any minute, they'll give you something" Don felt the fog beginning to cover him again. He felt so tired.

"Dad…can't be here…you have to leave…"

"Why Don? Why do I have to leave?" Don was pulling away trying to get as far away from him as possible, though Alan had no idea why.

"Don't…don't want to get you killed too…" A nurse had heard him ask his father to leave and immediately forced him out of the room. He stood in the hall, staring at the door, baffled and somewhat hurt. Then the words echoed in his mind. Why would Don think he would get him hurt?

**:-:-:-:-:-:**

Terry entered the office to find it milling with agents like ants. They were everywhere. Most of them had someone in handcuffs leading them to some room or another. There had been so many of them that they were running out of places to put people. She'd even heard a few reports of broom closets being cleared out so they could lock people in there until they were ready to be transferred to another office. She pushed her way through the crow to where David was working. He was surrounded by stacks of video tapes, audio tapes, and a stack of papers that looked like it might be photographs. He looked up at her.

"Hey, we found all of this at the warehouse. It's all about Charlie."

"What is all of this?" she picked up the top photograph on the stack. It was a particularly gruesome picture of Charlie. She had to put it down quickly sickened.

"These, are an entire catalog basically of what they did to Charlie. Now I don't know a lot yet, but one of the suspects did say that everything was sent to Don at one point or another. I haven't gone over any of it yet though." She nodded morosely. "How is Don and Charlie?"

"Not too good. Don was still in a coma when I left, but maybe with Alan there that will change. Charlie is alive by a thread only and the doctors aren't sure how much they can do for him. He's in really bad shape."

"Have any of the agents that were tested so far been a match for Don's kidney transplant?"

"Not yet, but I know that a lot of agents have been tested."

"When I get a chance I'm going to be tested, but I'm not sure how soon I'll escape." He waved frustrated at the stack he was going through. Terry sat down and helped wade through the stack, paling at points and having to get drinks of water to keep from throwing up. When they listened to the audio tapes, the entire office stopped, everything stopped, and even the suspects were oddly quiet. Perhaps that was because the only ones around at the time were the minor workers that hadn't had any part of what happened to Charlie. Terry and David had to stop several times to get control of their emotions. How could Don possibly have seen all of this? It was no wonder he was afraid to be around anyone he cared about. They were listening to another audio tape in morose silence when Alan spoke up behind them, hand hovering by his mouth in horror.

"Is _that_ what my Donnie had to listen too?" They all jumped shutting the player off in an instant. They hadn't heard him approach and were wondering why he was even there.

"Alan, when did you get here? Why aren't you at the hospital with Don?" He was not supposed to hear that, no one should hear that.

"Don had me kicked out, though I can't understand why." Terry spoke up first.

"Alan, Don, in his mind he believes himself as much a killer as the people that did this, even though he hasn't killed anyone, he still believes he's as evil as them." Alan's face contorted in confusion.

"How could he believe that?" His son could never be a killer let alone actually believe himself a killer.

"Alan, these stacks of tapes and pictures and movies, they were all sent to Don and they were all about Charlie with messages that indicated that it was Don's fault, and he believed every word." Alan had turned away overwhelmed and slowly made his way out of the office. Somehow, he didn't know how, he'd made it back to the hospital, but he didn't go back to Don, he went to Charlie, the one son that wasn't afraid of his own father.

**A/N: I know it was short, but it's here! Let me know what you think! I'm fighting off a stampede of plot bunnies and have over five stories in writing around one or two chapters that are all demanding attention, so please be patient!**


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Alan spent his time going between the office and the hospital. He would bring everyone breakfast and coffee in the mornings then go and sit with Charlie. He sat and prayed over his youngest son, willing him to live. The doctors said that he was actually improving, though he was still hanging on for dear life, but Alan couldn't see the changes. The bruising looked just as dark and swollen if not more so than the days before, the cuts didn't seem to heal and would often reopen and bleed again, and he still had to have a machine to breathe for him. Alan couldn't understand how something so simple as taking a breath could be too difficult for his son to do on his own, taking more effort than he could put forth. He would spend hours simply focusing on each breath he took, trying to understand. He wondered just how much effort it took to take a breath which seemed so simple.

Larry and Amita sat with him now. It had taken only one vicious glare that threatened all kinds of things at the first nurse to object to having all three of them in the room to silence any objections that each and every doctor or nurse had. Larry had nearly fainted when he saw Charlie for the first time and Amita had cried silently. None had ever predicted something like this would ever happen, especially to Charlie, a mathematician that taught and helped on F.B.I cases on occasion. This never should have happened. This kind of thing didn't happen to real people, only people on TV or in movies, not to them. Don still wouldn't let anyone see him, but Terry always snuck past the hospital security, and when she was caught she simply had a stare down with the nurses and hadn't lost yet. Alan suspected that the staff was a little afraid of Terry. Don never said anything anymore. Most of the time he couldn't even stay awake let alone talk. It was only a couple of hours before his kidney transplant. It turned out that David had been a near perfect match and was gladly donating a kidney towards Don's recovery.

Alan always asked Terry how Don was when she would come out of the room. His eldest son was really starting to scare him. He never in his life would have expected his son to refuse to see him, let alone be so firm and enduring after having done it. He had thought that Don would let him come back after a while of not having him around, but after the first week, he realized just how afraid Don was of himself. He truly believed himself to be a killer as if he'd pulled the trigger himself. He had begged Terry to convince Don that Charlie was still alive, but each time Don just refused to believe, always adamant that he'd killed his little brother. When it was time for Don's surgery Alan had waited immediately outside the door so there was no way for him to miss his son coming out. When he did Alan had stepped up to his son directly kissed him on his forehead and whispered to his son.

"I know you aren't a killer, I believe in you" That was all he'd been able to say before the staff pushed him away. Don never let himself look at his father, but Alan could see in his eyes that he was fighting not to cry. Don hadn't been expecting his father to suddenly jump him as he came out for the surgery. He was bleary and confused, feeling so tired by then that his mind hadn't registered until his father was already gone from his view. If his father ever knew the truth he would hate him. He could never know just how true it was that he was a killer. He had killed his little brother who had trusted him, loved him, and cherished his protection. He was exactly like the killers that he'd caught all his life and now he was one of them. Probably he had always been a killer, he was simply able to hide it as self defense because he was an agent. If only his father knew the truth. He shivered while he was in the elevator. He wasn't physically cold, he was chilled by the coldness of his heart, the killer inside of him he'd always tried to keep caged. He fought back the tears of hatred of himself. Terry had been with him every day now, telling him that Charlie was alive, but he would never believe, he'd seen his brother die and they were just trying to punish him, it was what he deserved, so he kept telling them that his brother was dead, just like he himself deserved to be. They moved him onto a cold operating table, it chilled him to the bone but he didn't let himself shiver, he had no right to complain about a minor inconvenience. They slipped the mask over his mouth and nose but he fought the relaxing drugs, he had no right to relax and sleep through this, he should face the pain, or as much of it as he could; it's what his brother had to do. They stuck the needle into his arm as gently as they could, and while the drugs numbed his arms, made his lips tingle, and eyes beginning to droop, he knew that he would be facing a similar needle in his future, one that would put an end to this new found killer that he was, it was what he deserved and looked forward to it.

**:-:-:-:-:-:**

Alan paced the waiting room, praying that Don's body would accept the kidney. He went to the desk many times during the many hours, yearning to hear about his son. David was brought out first. The doctor said that he was perfectly fine but was still under anesthesia and would sleep for an hour or so more. Don was still in surgery. It took hours. After a while Alan went back and waited with Charlie. Colby had promised to notify him the minute Don was out of surgery. Terry went back to help with the investigation unable to sit. She was too anxious to wait in a hospital and felt too useless so she went where she could be of some help. Larry and Amita had stayed with Charlie at Alan's request. They all knew that Charlie wasn't going to wake any time soon, but the thought of Charlie being alone even in sleep, surrounded by strangers appalled him so he'd asked at least one of them to be with him when Alan was available. They had accepted before the request was even spoken. They were more than happy to stand guard over their friend.

While he waited, Charlie's arm suddenly jerked away from his body in a short rolling motion before coming to a rest again. Alan didn't try to wake his son, he needed every bit of sleep he could get, but the small movement had given him hope, it meant that his son was still in there, fighting to get better. Colby came up two hours after Charlie's little sign of life and told them that Don was out of surgery and doing well, showing no signs of rejecting the kidney. Alan went down immediately when Don had been brought back to his room. Don had been partially awake before they brought him down and the nurse upon Alan's request had asked Don if he would let his father stay in the room with him. Groggily Don had given in, he was tired of resisting. If his father wanted to gawk at a killer, what right did he have to refuse his father?

Alan hovered over Don when he came into the room. He could see a new bulge under the blankets where the wads of gauze were. His son was horribly pale with dark circles under his eyes and was still hot to the touch but he shivered at Alan's touch. Even in sleep his son seemed to be afraid of his father. Alan couldn't help but want to see what was on all of those tapes. What had they done to Charlie and shown Don to make his son so afraid of the people he loved? He knew he would never get the images out of his head and the sounds out of his ears if he watched and listened, but how else would he know how to help his sons? Don would stir every now and then but would settle back into an restless sleep, discomfort either physical or emotional creasing across his brow. Alan talked to him, trying to coax him to wake but he seemed too tired to wake. Eventually he decided that if Don was this hard to wake then he probably needed the rest. A nurse came in after several hours of Alan beginning to worry and when he told her that his son hadn't woken yet she frowned and went to fetch his doctor. The doctor entered mere minutes later, checking every vital sign possible, asking Alan of all that he'd seen Don do, the little movement reported then him sinking back into deep sleep. Tests were ordered immediately and Alan was told he should probably wait with his other son while they worked with Don. The doctors were trying to get him out of the room for a while and he didn't care, he went back to Charlie.

It tore him in two having to divide his time like this between a son that thought himself a killer, fearing every loved one he knew, and a son barely hanging onto his own life. He wished he could be in two places at once, be with both sons at the same time. Even though he sat with Charlie, his mind stayed with Don. It hadn't been by choice his mind simply would not let go of Don and focus on Charlie. Why was Don not waking? He'd never done this before. He'd had a few surgeries in the past, only one truly serious and work related, but he'd always seemed to pop awake almost immediately after he'd been taken to recovery. Had Don truly given up so badly that he wouldn't even wake? Alan found himself praying to himself again, hoping and praying that Don would pull through. Eventually he found himself sitting with Charlie alone, Larry and Amita having left for the night around eleven, reading his Bible. It seemed to bring him comfort. A doctor came in knowing where he would be. They had no idea why Don wasn't waking, he had no reason to still be unconscious. The drug was out of his system by now and they didn't have anything except anti-biotics in his system and those wouldn't make him remain unconscious. Alan went back down to sit with Don. He still hated being torn between sons, but he had to make Don wake up. He couldn't lose him now in this way.

His son was just as pale as before.

"Donnie, please Donnie, wake up, for me…for your dad" Don didn't respond. Alan was fed up. He went out of the room returning with a large bucket of ice chips. He turned the lights on as bright as they would go, pulled back the blankets from his son and dumped the ice chips over his son's bare body. Don shivered and groaned but didn't wake. Alan felt no remorse for dumping multiple buckets over his son, coaxing him to wake up, talking to him, making him uncomfortable and cold. He had a fever anyways so this would be helpful in several ways. He made many trips refilling the bucket as the chips melts into the blankets. Alan didn't keep his voice quiet but he wasn't yelling at all, just being loud enough that his son couldn't ignore him. The hours crept by slowly without much progress, though Don did seem to respond to the ice chips far more often and loudly than he had earlier. It wasn't until sunrise when Alan truly saw results.

**:-:-:-:-:-:**

Don felt the fog to recede a little. Everything was dark, he was so tired. He felt cold, so cold. Where was he? Awareness came to him bit by bit. Slowly the inferno rose up in his stomach, he was on fire. He clawed at the darkness trying to sink back into it. It was peaceful there, no pain, no fear, nothing. He couldn't kill anyone if he was unconscious. He wasn't sure whether he was frozen or on fire but he was certain that both were warring over him. He just wanted to sleep, sleeping was safe for everyone, especially those that were still alive. Against his will things kept becoming clearer and he kept fighting to sleep the rest of his life. He could hear someone talking to him telling him to wake up. Who was it? Something that sound like an avalanche sounded and suddenly he was very cold again. What were they doing to him? He felt himself shiver, he heard himself groan. He didn't want them to know he was starting to wake. He heard that voice again. It felt so safe, he just wanted it to keep talking to him. Who's was it? Dad. It was Dad. He felt shaken to the core, he had to leave. His dad had to leave before he was murdered. His father asked him to open his eyes. He fought against himself to keep them closed. Don't let reality come crashing back, pretend you aren't a killer and maybe you'll live in that dream instead of reality. Against his wishes his eyelids peeled open slowly.

"Dad" His mind moved so slowly. Why was he this tired? The pain crashed upon him in a rockslide. Everything hurt, it was all on fire. Alan was overjoyed when Donnie opened his eyes slowly. His heart broke at his expression of pain, fear, and hopelessness in his eyes. He looked as if he was being torn in a dozen different directions. Then the pain and fear of the past weeks crashed down on him all at once. He son cried out gripping his stomach, eyes screwed shut tight, breathing heavily in short shallow breathes. Tears streamed down his face slowly. Alan pressed the call button and was back to Don in moments.

"Donnie, it okay, calm down, deep breathes." Don looked at his father through pain glossed eyes and shied away from his father.

"Dad! You can't be hear…I don't want to kill you too" He shot straight up in bed as he spoke as if he suddenly realized that his father was truly there then fell back with a cry of pain, wrapping his arms tighter around his waist. A nurse came in and barely looked at Don before whipping out a syringe and injecting a dose of morphine into his iv. Don slowly quieted, his grip on his waist loosening bit by bit, but he still groaned and tossed his head trying to escape whatever it was that seemed to chase him. His father sat down in the chair again, holding his son's sweaty hand, feeling it shiver beneath. They sat in silence for a while before Don spoke up again in a whisper. "Dad"

"Yes Donnie, what do you need?" Don refused to look at him.

"You can't be hear, I might end up killing you, I don't want to, so please leave" Alan's heart sank.

"Donnie, you are not a killer and I don't want to hear anymore talk about killing me or anyone else for that matter. You haven't killed anyone and you aren't a murderer"

"I killed Charlie" Alan closed his eyes wearily for a moment. Then he stood and grabbed Don's chin so his son couldn't look away.

"You did not kill Charlie. Charlie is still alive and you are not a murderer." Don seemed to be searching his father's eyes, looking for some truth in what he said. Alan could seem in his eyes he wanted to believe his father. The doctor came in and before he could say anything, Alan made a request. "Doctor, do you think we could wheel him to another room for a moment. I think it would do him a deal of good do his brother." The doctor stared at him critically for a moment. He'd been briefed by an agent about the special circumstances surround his two new patients and although he wasn't happy about Don being up and around so soon, he believed his patient would benefit from the visit. He finished his check up on Don before letting them load him onto a wheel chair carefully and take him upstairs for the visit.

Don sat very still in the wheel chair trying to move as little as possible. Even with the dose of morphine he'd had everything still hurt, but he would never tell that to anyone. They would give him more drugs to relieve the pain that he deserved to endure. He knew that his father thought Charlie was alive, but he knew better. They were taking him to the morgue to see his brother. It just hadn't sunk in to his father yet, but it would very soon, he knew the truth. Alan had gone ahead to explain what was happening to Larry and Amita and gain a little privacy for Don.

Don felt his heart pounding in his ears as they approached the room slowly. His father stood outside the door and took hold of the wheel chair, deftly wheeling him into the room. Don wouldn't let himself believe that Charlie was still alive. They hadn't gone to the morgue which surprised him but then maybe they simply hadn't had a chance to move him yet. He wouldn't believe his little brother was still alive. Not after everything Don did to him. The room was cold, like the morgue, it was sterile and white. A single bed lay in the center of the room. There was no TV or clothes closet in this room. On the bed lay his brother's body. It was so pale, wires and tubes protruding at every possible point, bandages and casts all over. His father wheeled him right up to the bed and backed away. He slipped a shaking hand under his brother's hand. It was so cold. He knew it, his brother was dead. But then, he could feel it on his finger tips, that pulse. He looked at his hands and realized his fingers lay on his brother's wrist. He could feel the pulse, it was weak, but it was there.

"He…He's alive" Don could feel himself shaking but he knew it wasn't from the cold. His father nodded and walked in front of his eldest grabbing his chin gently and turning Donnie to look at him.

"Yes Donnie, you're brother is alive. He hasn't given up. He's fighting every day to get better, everyday he fights towards the day which he will be able to breath without a machine and will see you, his brother. Charlie hasn't given up and neither can you. You can't give up now, not when your brother needs you the most. I need you too." Don nodded to his father, eyes glazed, deep in thought. Alan was pleased. It was an improvement.

"Can I have a few minutes alone with him?" His father left without another word. Don looked at his brother again. He was alive. How could he have survived? He was so cold. His entire body was swollen and contorted giving the look of a monster, but Don knew. Charlie wasn't the monster he was. He felt the pulse beneath his fingertips again and couldn't stop a small glimmer of hope to ignite. It was very small and very deep. He fought to extinguish it, he didn't have the right to have hope, but it only burned stronger. He let the tears come. He cried over his brother. He may have lived but now he had to live with the fear and pain that his brother had caused him. He bowed his head, focusing his eyes on his brother's hand within his own hand. He let the tears of despair, hopelessness and fear fall freely. The guilt welled up within him beyond what he could control and sobbed just as uncontrollably, only one conscious thought forming in his mind.

"What have I done"

**A/N: okay so what did you think? And just to let Daisy know, this will not be a they hug and everything is all better story. Don has to find for his recovery in this…anyways let me know what you thought! Oh and for those that have read my "He said Goodbye" story, there is hope, the sequel is in production as we read!**


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Don went through each day after that in silence. He only spoke when the doctors asked a question and would not settle for a nod or shake of the head. Even then is was only a whisper. His father would sit with him for most of the day and visit Charlie when the doctors would let him. He tried to strike up conversation of any kind but after many failed attempts he settled into just sitting with him. He slowly improved. His father knew that he could be improving faster, but every time Don went to sleep, the dream came up, it got worse each time, Charlie lasted longer each time, so he simply pretended to sleep until he was alone then he would sit up and try not to think. He would only eat when someone was present and even then he found himself throwing it all up after they would leave. When he was alone he would look at the food and just end up flushing it down the toilet so no one knew anything was wrong. He didn't want sympathy. He didn't deserve anyone's sympathy.

His father came by in the morning, and he didn't miss his father looking over him critically with concern. Don ignored him. He was allowed to look bad, he was in the hospital. His father again tried to strike up a conversation, anything. Don just ignored him. He didn't want to talk. He didn't want to have company. He just wanted to be alone. He felt sick again, but he wouldn't let himself get sick with his father. Nobody could ever know. His father greeted him and struck up a conversation but Don stayed quiet. His father would give up soon. He always gave up without Don talking to him. But this time, he just kept prattling on as if Don were participating. He could feel a headache rise equally with his frustration. He just wanted Alan to go away. But his father didn't. Don just sat listening, staring at the clock. It was long after an hour had gone by that he broke.

"Go away" monotone.

"NO, you are my son and I'm not leaving. No matter how much you want to, or how much you try to push me away, I'm not leaving." He looked at his son for a moment. He may not look like it, but he could tell Don was listening. " I don't care that you _think_ you are a killer, I know you are not a murderer. For one thing, no body is dead, and second of all, I raised you, I know you, and I know you are not a killer."

"You're wrong" it was barely a whisper.

"Don't tell me I'm wrong, I know I'm not. You haven't killed anybody. Even if you had the opportunity, even the motive to kill in cold blood, I know you wouldn't, couldn't kill in cold blood. You are my son and I love you, I will always love you, no matter what happens to you or to Charlie, even you thinking yourself a killer and Charlie hanging on for dear life in the hospital I still love you. I always will, no matter what." Don couldn't take it. He rolled onto his side facing away from his father. He wanted to cry. He wished he could believe his father, but his father didn't know the truth. _I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry. I can't let him see me cry, just hold them back until he leaves._ Don bit his lip. Now more than ever he wanted his father to leave. It was hard holding back the tears. He heard his father walk around the bed to look him in the face but Don rolled away each time he tried.

"Go away, I don't want to talk to you" monotone, mostly. When his father refused Don jumped up pulling out the iv and stumbled to the bathroom before his father could catch him, ignoring the pain it caused jumping up that fast. He locked the door behind him and sank against the door to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest. He couldn't do this. He let the tears fall silently, careful not to make a sound. He just couldn't do this.

**:-:-:-:-:-:**

Terry was watching an interrogation when she got the call. They were avoiding every possible loop hole a lawyer might take. No one on Don's team would be running any of the interrogations, just watching. They didn't want to be accused of anything that could let any of these guys go. Everyone had agreed that they would go for the death penalty for as many of these sickos as possible. She pursed her lips before answering the phone. It seemed like every time her phone rang, something bad would happen or had happened.

"Terry"

"Hey Terry, it's Alan, umm…I need your help."

"What's wrong?" she could hear it in his voice that something wasn't right.

"Don's locked himself in the bathroom here at the hospital and nobody can get him out. They tried to unlock the door with the key but he held the lock. Can you come see if you can persuade him out?"

"Sure I'm on my way."

"Thanks" Colby looked at her.

"What was that about?"

"Don locked himself in the bathroom and nobody can get him out." Colby followed her out to the car. He was going too.

**:-:-:-:-:-:**

Don heard more footsteps outside the door. _Not again._ He just wanted to be left alone. Why wouldn't any body just leave him be? Instead of feeling the frustration recur that had risen up before, he felt a consuming despair boil over. He didn't want to talk, he didn't want to be sympathized, he didn't want to kill anyone, and he most certainly didn't want to keep living. He heard Terry call to him to come out but he just stayed silent. He didn't trust himself to speak. He'd stopped crying ten minutes after he'd started. He wouldn't cry, that was pathetic. Charlie had a right to cry if he lived, but not him, now Don Eppes had no right to cry. He looked for a weapon he could use on himself after he'd stopped himself from crying, but the bathroom was empty. They seemed to have expected him to try and cleared everything that might have been useful out. Someone rapped on the door. He ignored them. He didn't want to live any more let alone talk to them.

Suddenly a piece of paper slipped under the door next to him followed by a sharpie marker. Of course, don't give him anything sharp.

_Please come out!_ Don scowled. This wouldn't work.

_NO!_

_Please_

_NO!_

_Pretty please with a cherry on top_ Don was disgusted. Why wouldn't they just leave him alone? He just wanted to be alone.

_GO AWAY! LEAVE ME ALONE TO DIE!_ Don was beginning to feel mad but it didn't last long. He was too tired to be mad for long. The paper slipped back under the door. He didn't really want to read it but he did.

_Will you at least let one of us inside? Or will you come out?_

_I don't want to talk to you, go away, let me die in peace, I'm never coming out!_

_Don! If you don't either come out or let at least one of us in, I'm shooting the lock with my gun! _Don didn't believe her and he didn't send the note back out. They were in a hospital. She would never shoot a gun here. None of them would. At least that was what he thought until he heard someone draw their gun and load it quite loudly.

_Only Colby! Everyone else GO AWAY!_ They all looked at each other than left the room, except for Colby. Colby shut and locked the door behind them. He waited quietly for Don to come out but he didn't. He gently knocked on the door.

"Don, do you want to come out or am I coming in? Everyone else left the room, the door is locked and everything." There was no response but after a moment he heard the door unlock but Don still didn't emerge. He took that as an invitation to come in. Don sat to the right of the door, knees drawn to his chest, arms wrapped around his stomach, staring at the floor in front of him. Colby sat down against the wall to the left of the door looking at Don from the side. They sat in silence for a while. "Don what's going on? What's bothering you?" he knew it was a silly question but it was where the conversation would need to be.

"I'm waiting to die in here"

"Why?"

"Because I don't deserve to live, I'm a killer, but nobody else will get rid of me so I'm doing it myself. I'm going to sit in here until I die"

"Don you aren't a killer."

"Yes I am"

"Then how come nobody is dead? If you're a killer you're terrible at it" Don gave a sad fake smile.

"I saw Charlie, he'll be dead soon after what I've done to him. He can't live through all of that."

"He already has lived through it and he's gonna keep living through it. You know why?" Don shook his head slowly. He didn't want to talk, but for some reason he couldn't stop himself. He only let Colby in because he didn't want them to shoot the lock and he definitely didn't want Terry or his father to see him like this. Why was it that it didn't bother him to talk to Colby? "Because I know for a fact that even after everything that happened, Charlie doesn't want to die. He wants to live and see you. He wants to see his big brother. Do you know how I know?"

"No"

"I know because when I found him at the warehouse, he asked for you. He wanted to see you, not me, not David, not Terry, you." Don bit his lip. Colby remained silent for Don to think for a few minutes.

"You don't know what I did you to. You don't even know what happened to Charlie" Don didn't sound bitter. He had been speaking in monotone ever since Colby came in.

"Don, I know everything about what happened to Charlie. I saw the tapes and the photos." Don went white as a sheet.

"N-no y-you can't know!"

"But I do know" Don seemed to deflate. Back to the monotone.

"Then you should know I'm a killer."

"Don, I saw everything and I never saw you doing any of it. You weren't the person that did anything to Charlie. I don't believe you are a killer. You don't have the heart to be a killer."

"I was their project"

"What kind of project?" Colby was starting to learn something. Did Don know that they didn't know about this 'project'?

"They said that I was their project. They were going to make me the perfect killer. I don't know why. I think they've done it before."

"Well it was a failed project from the beginning…you'll never be a killer" They sat in another silence. Colby could see the defensive walls crumbling fast. No matter how hard Don was trying he couldn't stop the fall.

"Why do I have to be a killer?' Colby didn't give up…the walls were almost down.

"you don't" Don was fighting to keep his lip from trembling like the rest of him. Colby could see the tears welling up, eroding Don's defenses, threatening to spill.

"I don't want to be a killer" it was barely a whisper. Colby scooted over to Don and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. It wasn't something he would normally do, but this is what was needed. Don needed to feel safe again. Don leaned against him and broke. Colby could feel him trembling beneath him, he still had his knees drawn to his chest and arms around his stomach which probably caused him a lot of pain, but Colby figured the best way to get him out of that position was to leave him be about it until after he'd broken down and was ready to leave the bathroom.

Don felt safe for the first time since everything started. Once Colby had wrapped his arm around him he suddenly felt safe, protected. He couldn't stop the tears from falling. He'd been afraid and helpless for so long. He couldn't stop the tears. Colby held Don while he sobbed uncontrollably in his arms. It shook him to see Don the once so strong agent, leader, brother, and friend, brought down to being afraid of everything and everyone, thinking he was a killer. They had broken Don.

Don didn't care that he was crying. He didn't care that Colby was seeing him cry. He couldn't stop. He wanted to but he couldn't. All the fear, despair, hopelessness, and hatred had welled up these past weeks. He'd managed to control them before, push them away, but now they were out and he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop crying. He was so afraid. He didn't want to be a killer but he couldn't stop himself. He was afraid of becoming a killer. He couldn't stop trembling. He leaned closer to Colby. Colby was there for him. Colby would protect him, keep him safe, maybe Colby could even stop him from becoming a killer. Colby had said that he didn't believe he could ever be a killer. Don let that little ray of hope grow. It didn't get very big, but it was there. He sobbed uncontrollably, trembling just as hard as he cried. He suddenly didn't care that he was crying in front of Colby. It felt could to cry. Colby would protect him. He was safe again.

**A/N: Well there is chapter twelve! What do you think? Emotional enough? Oh by the way, I forgot to mention on the first chapter that the title of this story is based off the song "My December" by Linkin Park, one other thing…What kind of family does Colby have? This is for another story I'm writing…Brothers, sisters, parents?**


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Alan was pacing after the first twenty minutes had gone by. He couldn't stand to be outside while his son was doing who knows what, or in who knows what kind of condition emotionally. It was driving him insane not knowing. He wanted to be there for his son but Don wouldn't let him. He'd thought when he showed up that if he pushed and made sure Don knew he wouldn't just go away and still loved him that he would at least start talking. He never expected Don to lock himself in the bathroom. He found himself pacing faster and faster as each minute ticked by. Why didn't Don want to talk to him? Why did he want to talk to Colby instead? He was his father. He should be the one talking to Don, not Colby. Alan felt the jealousy rising up but he suddenly pushed it down into a cage. It wasn't right to be jealous of Colby. Don was afraid that he would kill someone and he probably picked Colby because he was an agent and could defend himself. He probably didn't pick Terry because they had had a dating history. He wouldn't want her to see him like that. Whatever 'that' was.

Terry insisted upon Alan sitting after the first hour of waiting. He was starting to wear a rut into the floor, she was sure of it. Several very unhappy doctors and nurses came by, trying to get into the room. They had all known that Don had locked himself in the bathroom but last they'd checked he hadn't come out and the room was unlocked. Alan explained what he knew of what was going on and after a little bit of incoherent grumbling they left them in peace. He was only able to sit for fifteen minutes at a time at most before Alan jumped up and started pacing again. Terry would go get them some coffee, she gave Alan water thinking he didn't need any caffeine, every now and then and they would continue to wait in silence. They all pondered what was going on inside the room, but none of them could ever truly make their minds come to a satisfactory conclusion. It wasn't until four hours later that Colby came out of the room, closing the door gently behind him. He looked exhausted and to Terry, somewhat shaken. Alan nearly pounced on him.

"What happened? Is my Donnie okay? Move over I want to see him." Colby stood blocking the door.

"Alan, Don needs some time alone right now. He promised me he wouldn't lock himself in the bathroom or any other room while he was here, but he isn't ready to have visitors now."

"Well what happened? What did he say?" Colby sighed wearily.

"Alan, I'm going to leave that up to Don to tell you when he's ready, but for now he should be left alone. Go visit Charlie for the day and come see Don tomorrow, he'll probably be ready for visitors by then, though I can't say he'll do any talking, and he shouldn't be pushed to talk either." Alan felt he'd been slapped in the face. He couldn't see his son. Not ready for visitors, he wasn't a visitor, he was his father! And what did Colby mean by saying he shouldn't be pushed to talk? If he didn't talk how would he get past all this? He bit back the questions. If Colby were being this blunt with him then it must be true, for the moment. He nodded distractedly and went to sit with Charlie. Larry and Amita followed close behind keeping a watchful eye. The minute they were out of sight and ear shot Terry began the questions.

"So what happened?"

"Well, for the first twenty minutes we talked, well, I talked, he didn't say a whole lot. He's terrified that he's going to turn into a killer and he said that he was their project, making him into the perfect killer was their project." Terry was confused.

"Why would he be their project to turn into a killer? That doesn't make sense. What else did he say?"

"He didn't"

"You were in there for four hours he had to have said something more. What did you do for four hours in there?"

"Well he told me what I just told you pretty much, I did my best to convince him he wasn't a killer. I think he's starting to believe me. And then he broke down and broke down hard. After those twenty minutes of talking he just cried. He was sobbing uncontrollably the whole time. I think he had locked away his emotions up until then. Just made himself be as detached as possible. Honestly, seeing him like that, I'm wondering whether he'll be able to truly recover from this."

"He has to; his brother is going to need him."

"Terry, at this point I'm not sure Don is going to be able to be there for his brother. He terrified that he's going to kill someone. He still thinks his brother is going to die anyways."

"Well, let's keep working on the evidence, that at least we can do."

"Alright, I left Don my cell phone number written down and the phone is in reach. He's supposed to call me if he needs anything at all."

"That's good; he needs someone to depend on now more than ever."

**:-:-:-:-:-:**

Don lay on the bed. He was exhausted. He hadn't realized he could get any more tired than he'd already been but apparently the sudden flood of emotions had exhausted him. He lay on his side, staring numbly at the phone number Colby had left and at the phone. He found himself wanting to call, but Colby had just left and he didn't really have a reason to call. He just felt suddenly alone and it scared him. He'd been alone through all of this. He didn't want to be alone, but he didn't want his father or Terry to be here. He was still so afraid that he would end up killing them. Turn into the killing monster that everyone was so convinced he wasn't and could never become. He told himself in his head over and over that he wasn't a killer, would never be one, couldn't be one, hoping that if he told himself enough it would come true.

He shivered and pulled the blankets up to his chin and curled his legs to his chest just a tiny bit. He felt so vulnerable when he did have his knees on his chest. He was all stretched out. An easy target. _An easy target for what?_ He resisted the urge to call Colby. He probably hadn't even made it back to the office. He felt like he would cry again, but he knew he wouldn't. He'd just gotten done crying for so long. He didn't have any tears left to cry. He would have to wait for his eyes to make more tears. They were all dried up for the moment. He didn't remember every crying like that so hard for so long before, not even when his mother died. He felt so tired. He was hungry, but food didn't sound good yet. He was too tired to eat anyways. He curled a little tighter, he was so cold. He found the call button and waited for a nurse to come with the extra blanket he asked for. The nurse laid the heavy blanket over him silently and left just as silent.

The heavy blanket was already warm for some reason, but he didn't care why. The weight made him feel safer for some reason. As if it were a shield protecting him. It didn't make him feel near as safe as Colby had, but it was an improvement. The room seemed too bright and cold. Too sterile. He pulled both blankets over his head leaving it open just enough for him to get fresh air but block out the bright, cold, sterile room. Before he knew it he'd fallen into a deep sleep. At first he didn't dream and that was nice. He actually didn't dream for once, he was actually getting rest. Then something woke him a little bit and he started to dream. It was the same every time.

He would be standing over Charlie in the hospital bed. There would be a white thin sheet pulled over his body. The head would rise up and looked toward him, his arm falling off the side of the bed. Then he would fall back down and lay still. Suddenly a hand would grip Don's shoulder. He would jump and try to scream, but he never could. Charlie's corpse would be standing behind him near transparent, mud smudged all over his face, his flesh half decayed and worms crawling through the open wounds of decayed flesh. His brother would always ask in a demonic like voice that sent chills down his spine, why Don killed him, didn't he love him. Then he would darken suddenly and say that not to worry he would have his revenge, and that he would make Don suffer a hundred time longer and far more than he had done to Charlie. He would wake each time bathed in sweat, the room spinning, unable to stifle a scream. Nurses would come running but he never answered their barrage of questions.

Now he laid on his side again, staring at the number again, wishing Colby were here to chase the nightmares away. _Why can't I chase my own nightmares away? I'm tired of being afraid._ Don bit his lip. Should he call Colby or not? He'd said that he wanted Don to call if he needed something, but was he just being pathetic? The dream flashed through his mind again. He shivered and pulled the blankets up higher. Why am I so cold? He wondered if it was just in his head being so cold. He looked at the number again. _Come on Eppes, you're a big boy, just get over it. It's just a nightmare, deal with it yourself, it's not Colby's job to make you feel safe. You're a big boy, forget the dreams and move on already! _Don felt mad at himself. Why couldn't he just move on? He bit his lip, rolled over facing away from the phone number and tried to sleep again. He found himself fighting back the tears again. He wouldn't cry, not again. He wouldn't never cry again. He hated himself for nearly becoming a killer. He hated himself for crying so hard in front of Colby. He never heard the nurse come in with a tray of food or mention to him that he should eat. He could smell the food but it curdled his stomach being able to smell the food let alone actually eat the food. He pulled the covers over his head again and hid from the world.

**:-:-:-:-:-:**

Alan sat with Charlie and for once his mind was actually on Charlie. He'd felt guilty when he couldn't think about anything but Don, but even though Don had a better chance of living through his physically, he was more worried at his eldest son at this point. Charlie seemed to be improving. He was actually showing visible signs of healing. The skin around his eyes where the blind fold had been was still raw the cracks and cuts had formed scabs and were healing nicely. The bruises were nearly faded and weren't very swollen anymore. It didn't slip by Alan that his son's heart beat was faster and stronger now than it had been before. It gave him hope that Charlie was showing good strides of improving.

Alan nearly thought he was seeing things when Charlie turned his head. It was a very small move that showed no strength behind it, but Charlie did move his head. He hovered over his son.

"Charlie, son, open your eyes" Larry and Amita had just barely seen the movement and now stood beside the bed. Charlie turned his head the other direction weakly. Alan could see his eyes moving slowly, darting around under his eyelids. Could his son possibly be actually waking up. Charlie moaned faintly. Alan could barely hear it, muffled by the tube in his throat, but he absolutely heard his son. There it was again, another faint moan. He fervently talked to Charlie, coaxing his son to wake. Charlie moaned again and his eyes very slowly, peeled open. Alan cried right then and there. His son was awake. Charlie's eyes were heavily glazed and rolling around slowly, unfocused, not recognizing anything. Alan could see the sheer pain in his son's eyes. He trembled, whimpered, and moaned. Alan's heart broke seeing the sheer pain in his son's eyes. He was in agony. He didn't recognize anything but the pain. His heart rate was up quite a bit but Alan took it as a good sign since this was the strongest and steadiest he'd heard his son's monitor thumping away at. His son shuddered then his eyes rolled back into his head and he was gone again. Moments later the doctor had arrived in a rush. They explained what had happened with Charlie. The doctor checked all his vitals.

"That is a good sign Mr. Eppes, I'm amazed he actually regained consciousness but it means that he's doing well." Alan smiled. The doctor was right, it was a very good sign. Charlie had come back to them even if for only a minute, two at the most, but he had come back. Alan cried tears of joy. Perhaps they were all going to get through this alive together after all.

**A/N: Well what'd you think. Enjoying?**


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Alan's world was a blur from the day Charlie woke for those two minutes. He was constantly bouncing between a quick trip home for a shower and hour or two of sleep then to Don and back to Charlie. Although Charlie didn't wake again that week, he did show signs of being close to consciousness, eyes darting under their lids, a moan every now and then, and a few rare times he would twitch and arm, finger, or move his head slightly. The movements were never big and never showed much strength behind them, but they were movements, signs of life. Another good sign was the bruises that seemed suspended in time, defying all rules of time, lingering when all else faded were now fading away quite rapidly, growing paler by the day. Don however, was concerning him greatly. His condition was actually deteriorating instead of improving. The transplant had been successful, but his condition was now worse than when he'd come to the hospital.

After Don had locked himself in the bathroom, Alan had followed Colby's request and left Don alone for the remainder of the day. It had been very hard to leave his eldest son be he nearly worried himself quite literally sick. He just wanted to hold both his son's close to him tightly and never let them go again. Ever since he'd come back it felt like he'd been gone for years. He wondered if Don would ever be the same again after this. So far it didn't look like he would recover either emotionally or physically. They were having to practically force feed him and pump him with anti-nausea drugs that didn't really seem to work. For every three meals Don ate he kept down one. He only drank when forced and slept only when exhaustion overcame the determination. The doctors were uneasy about sedating him until he got the proper rest because of the hard time waking he'd had before.

Now Don was almost always in a fevered sleep, waking only for ten minutes at a time at most, but normally it was for only five minutes or less. He developed a fever the day before at 101.4 holding strong. They'd given him a stronger cocktail of antibiotics but the infection had a foothold and the medicine wasn't affecting the fever nearly as well as needed. Alan sat with Don, a cold cloth in his hand, wiping his son's forehead, wrists and chest. Don moaned every time the cold cloth touched his skin and would squirm to escape it icy touch. It broke Alan's heart seeing his son like this. His son was so fearful and weakened from everything that had happened. It scared him to see either of his sons like this.

Abruptly Don's back arched and he began thrashing about wildly, his movements and body stiff. Alan stumbled backwards surprised knocking the bowl of cold water to the floor and dropping the wet rag from his hand. His shock ended abruptly as he rushed forward to catch Don from rolling off the opposite side of the bed. He pulled his back onto the bed still thrashing wildly.

"HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!" Machines were going wild beeping and chirping, sirens going off all over the place. Alan held Don's arm desperately fighting to keep him on the bed. Bandages were slackening and falling to the floor in drifts, the ivs suddenly ripped from Don's each hand, swinging endlessly tangling around his arm. Don's back arched rigidly then crashed back down on the bed in an odd rolling motion, putting him on his side. The thrashing worsened and Alan was relieved when a doctor shoved him towards the wall. Doctors yelled at each other working on Don furiously. Time slowed to a near stand still for Alan. All he could see was Don thrashing wildly, lines of pain evident all over his body. Then the bare stab wounds caught his attention. They were partially closed but were read, puffy, and terribly swollen, a hint of a rotting smell filled the room. His eyes widened, he'd never seen these before and hadn't realized just how bad they were. He wanted so badly to look away from the sight, but he couldn't make his eyes avert.

He stood there the tears sliding silently down his face, the fear for his son beginning to overwhelm. Just as suddenly as it began it stopped. Don's back had been arched as high as it could go when he suddenly went limp. The nurses and doctors were moving rapidly but him, Don didn't move. He was so still. Everything was moving except him. Was he dead? Alan never got his answer before a nurse oh so delicately shoved him out of the room and shut the door in his face. He could only stare at the door in a trance. How had their lives come to this? He was at high risk of losing both his sons. He didn't stop the tears; they were for his sons all for his boys.

He walked numbly out of the hospital. He needed air, suddenly this air was too sterile, and he needed real air. He stood trembling against the wall of the building, not knowing what to do. He never knew something like this would ever happen. He never thought about what he would do. Yes, he'd prepared himself for what he would do if something ever happened to Don, but this, this whole thing. He didn't know what to do. He felt useless, lost, confused, and most of all frightened. He closed his eyes, desperate to shut out the real world and took a shuddering breath.

**:-:-:-:-:-:**

Colby parked the car at the hospital a little worried. He hadn't heard anything from Alan, Larry, or Amita since Don's breakdown in the hospital bathroom. He was worried about Alan almost as much as he was about Don and Charlie at this point. The stress had to be getting to Alan more than he'd been showing. Colby knew that Alan was desperately trying to look strong and more together for Don then he really was, perhaps even a little for himself as well. He was probably hoping that if he pretended to be coping better than he was it would simply become a reality instead of imaginary.

He knew something was wrong when he found Alan leaning against the wall outside the hospital door, visibly shaking, eyes closed, breathing shallowly.

"Alan, are you alright?" He opened his eyes the weariness evident. He seemed to have aged ten years since Colby had last seen him.

"No, not really. Well, I mean I'm okay, but Don, he...he isn't doing well at all. He's gotten extremely worse."

"What happened?"

"I...I don't really know, he just started thrashing uncontrollably...I think it was a seizure, but I don't really know, the doctors haven't told me anything." Colby sighed worriedly, that definitely sounded like a seizure to him, though he'd never actually witnessed someone having a seizure. He wrapped his arms around Alan' shoulders and guided him back inside the hospital. He was concerned that Alan's shaking legs wouldn't hold him much longer, though he didn't think that Alan realized he was shaking so badly. Alan hadn't stopped rambling, more to himself then to Colby.

"He was so still. Everyone was moving but him...I don't know whether he was still alive...he was so still." Colby was really starting to get worried. How much of Alan' anxiety was forming exaggerations and just how real had all of this been. He had no doubt that something had happened but he was wondering if Alan had seen Don in the middle of a violent nightmare or if it really was a seizure. He honestly hoped that Alan was just overreacting but somehow he didn't think he was. He kept his arms around Alan's shoulders until they'd made it to the waiting room where he guided him to a chair insisting on him sitting until he was more calm. Once he was satisfied that he would stay sitting, Colby went and fetched a glass of nice cool water for him to drink. As Alan sipped his water he recounted what had happened to Colby word for word in a calm controlled manner. After the second telling, Colby was certain that it hadn't been exaggerated by Alan's overwhelmed anxiety that put such gravity to the event. He went to the desk and asked about Don's current condition. The nurse was spared an answer when the doctor came out of Don's room. Alan jumped up instantly.

"My son he's still alive? Is he okay? What happened? What was wrong? Will he get better?" The doctor just smiled sympathetically and waited for Alan to finish his tirade of questions. Colby kept a close eye on Alan waiting to catch if he needed seeing that he was still shaking though not as badly as when he'd come. The doctor had waited patiently, expecting such a tirade when he came out to speak to the family. It happened every time though this father was wound far tighter than most, probably because both sons were on such a precarious path in their lives.

"Yes, Don is alive. Is he okay? No, he's not. As to what happened, well that is easy. His 101.4 fever spiked rapidly to 104.6 in about five minutes which triggered a fairly severe seizure. As to whether he will get better, we are doing our best but he is going to have to start fighting to get better if he doesn't what to stay here for several more months. When he is in strong enough condition I'm going to prescribe some fairly strong anti-depressants. That should help with his emotional state, but the thing he needs the most is his family." Alan remained silent. Not for the first time these past weeks he felt like he'd been hit by a ton of bricks. He felt like he'd been knocked senseless. Why couldn't things just go back to the way they were? Why couldn't they be a family like before? This was getting to be too much. He could feel himself starting to break down. He couldn't let himself do that. Donnie needed someone to be strong for him and Charlie, once he was able to wake for more than a minute or two would need someone to be strong for him as well. Normally Alan would push Don to take up that position for Charlie. It was good for them to depend on each other, but could he be strong for both of them at the same time to this degree? He really didn't think he had the strength to do this anymore.

Colby saw Alan beginning to sink, the weariness suddenly catching up with him, the severity of both the physical and emotional harm that had been inflicted and the strength it was going to task him to get both his sons through this caught up with him like a predator. Colby half directed, half carried Alan back to the chair he'd been sitting in previously. He was shaking far more badly than when he'd been outside the hospital. Colby replaced the cup of water into Alan's hand and imposed him to drink. He complied numbly barely aware of what he was doing. He was suddenly exhausted beyond belief. He was sure he hadn't slept or eaten in years. He tried to think of the last time he'd slept but he couldn't remember the last time, no matter how recently he'd slept. He just wanted to go home and find both Don and Charlie there, as if this had never happened, like a bad dream that he couldn't wake from. He didn't realize that he'd been led away until he suddenly found himself inside his own home. He didn't remember leaving the hospital, or getting in the car, he was simply home, alone. He sat in a kitchen chair, ate the food that suddenly appeared before him, and soon found himself in the shower. He let the warm water rinse away all the pain. Was this what it was like to lose everything and everyone around you that you loved so dear to your heart? He didn't remember ever being so alone, or in so much emotional pain, even when he'd lost his beloved Margaret; it had been easier than this. Not easy, but far easier. He'd known ahead of time that the end was coming, that he would lose her, but now, now he'd had no warning, no time to prepare, it was simply happening. He didn't even remember the start of all this, just the here and now.

He fell into his bed barely even aware of what he was doing. He didn't remember falling asleep or even sleeping for that matter. It was suddenly morning. He found himself lying in his bed wondering how his life had gone so wrong. He didn't get up right away. He laid there and quietly talked to Margaret, looking at their wedding photograph on the nightstand.

"Oh Margaret, I wish you were here. I could use your strength right now. The boys need you now more than ever. I need your strength too, more than ever. I'm not strong enough for this. I can't help them both. I need you here by my side. I need your strength." Alan couldn't continue. The tears well in his eyes over flowing with the emotions and pain. He never thought he would have to be in so much pain ever again. This exceeded everything he'd gone through when he lost Margaret, and he'd thought that was unbearable. The tears flowed freely but he kept them silent. The tears stopped, they dried, the day went on, and the world continued to turn, but Alan remained. He couldn't bring himself to rise from bed. He couldn't face the day

**:-:-:-:-:-:**

Colby woke early in the morning. He'd stayed on the couch during the night. He had definitely thought that it was a bad idea to leave Alan alone in his home. It seemed that his world had crashed last night just like his sons' worlds were crashing and burning. He hoped the fact that it was now ten in the morning and he still hadn't seen him meant that he was finally sleeping restfully. When they had gotten through the door last night Alan had been in a near catatonic state. Colby had made him some dinner and he'd eaten it, but he didn't really think that Alan had realized he was even eating. When noon rolled around and he still hadn't seen or heard anything from Alan, he was beginning to worry and crept up the stairs, pressing his ear against the door. He heard Alan and after a few more moments of strained listening realized that he was speaking to his wife. He crept away not wanting to eaves drop on Alan's private conversation with his late wife. He proceeded to make Alan a hot, hearty breakfast. He would wait until Alan was done with his conversation but then he would bring him some breakfast. He made three medium pancakes, stacked upon each other, two eggs hidden between each pancake and two on top of the last pancake, smothered in butter and syrup. He pored a large glass of orange juice and put everything on the table before heading upstairs to get Alan. He didn't hear Alan talking any longer and decided it was time to bring him out to face the day.

"Alan, Alan. Are you okay in there?" He heard steps towards the door. They were heavy and slow, but they were coming. Alan had deep circles under his eyes, and his eyes were red rimmed but they were also clear now. He was looking better than he had last night in and odd sort of way.

"I'm fine. Did you spend the night here? You didn't have to do that."

"I know Alan, I chose to stay the night. I made you some breakfast, it's on the table, I thought you could use a hearty meal." He smiled. Colby had gone beyond himself for the sake of him. No wonder Don enjoyed his job. He had such good friends surrounding him all the time. If only he could still see that. Alan followed Colby downstairs, and pursed his lips in gratitude at the oddly thick stack of pancakes. There must be more to this meal than just three pancakes, butter, and syrup for it to be that tall. He took his first bite and found the answer. Eggs, hidden eggs. He smiled. Colby was obviously determined to stuff him with as much as possible in one meal expecting him not to eat for the rest of the day. _He's probably right too. I should eat as much as I can since even I admit to not planning on eating the rest of the day._ He ate as much as he could. The meal was delicious. Colby sat with him drinking his own glass of orange juice in silence. Alan felt obligated to say something after all the kindness Colby had shown him unnecessarily.

"Honestly Colby, you didn't have to do this, it wasn't necessary. I'm sure you couldn't have slept well on the couch."

"Alan, first of all the couch was perfectly comfortable, especially when you pack every pillow in the house not currently being used around you. And second of all, Don and Charlie are both going to be depending on your strength to get them through this. I know that Don is pushing you away but that is simply out of a fear of himself, he needs you to help him get through this. We are all going to do what we can but you are the one he needs. And when Charlie is well enough he is going to need you too."

"Yes but..." Colby held his hand for his chance to finish.

"Until the point where Charlie can help Don get past all this and vice versa, they will both be dependant entirely on you. That is sure to be very tasking and require more strength and endurance than any one man, even the strongest of them, will be able to give alone for long. That is why I'm going to help you, as well as Don and Charlie as much as I can, when I can. It's time you used the advice we all know you are going to give to them, there is nothing wrong with accepting help. It's not a sign of weakness, and letting yourself feel your emotions will only help to get you past all the pain and fear, you will be able to move on with your lives and actually live life." Alan smiled at Colby with a slight laugh. It was the very speech he'd rehearsed early to tell his sons. He also knew that if they were going to make it through this with their sanity and their lives for some, they would all have to follow that advice, even him. After the meal Alan took a deep, calming breath, closing his eyes to let the strength renew within him while Colby cleared away the dishes. He was ready. It was time. It was time to face the day.

**A/N: Well, here is another chapter. I hope you like it! Things should start to pick up, I now have almost double the writing time I had before so this and other stories(the sequel to He Said Goodbye) are progressing more quickly and will be here soon! R&R Please!**


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

When Alan arrived at the hospital a little after noon he was a nervous wreck and went straight to see his Donnie. He was grateful that Colby had come with him. He had been such a help through all of this for him and his sons, even though neither of his two sons could recognize how much help they were getting. He wondered what he could do to repay him all of his kindness and generosity but everything seemed to come up short. He pushed his thoughts to the back of his mind and pushed to door to Donnie's room open.

His son looked considerably worse than he had the day before, excusing the factor of the seizure from this opinion. He had dark circles under his eyes, he had a heavy sheen of sweat all over his body, he visibly shivered, and he was tossing his head weakly from side to side in some nightmare. Alan could hear faint mumbling under his son's breath. He felt his son's forehead gently. He was burning up. His brow creased with worry. Don couldn't seem to get a handle and beat these infections, not on his own at least. He wondered how he could help his son. How hard could he push himself back into Don's life with Don pushing him away for fear of himself. Could Don get past this with his help? Alan knew that what he would really need was his brother's strength and assurances to get him through these dark times, but seeing as Charlie was currently unavailable, Alan was determined to push back twice as hard as his eldest ever would. His son seemed to quiet into a fevered sleep, no longer tossing his head, but not truly restful either.

Again he wondered if his son would have the strength to pull himself through this. His son had been so strong before this. He had been the steady, strong member of the family, especially when they lost their beloved mother, he'd been the strong one. Now, he couldn't bring himself to be near his own family for fear that he would unintentionally kill one or both of them. He felt his strength waver again as he thought of the daunting task, getting both Don and most likely Charlie as well, past the fear, despair, the nightmares and the pain. It was almost insurmountable. He brushed Donnie's hair, though it was still quite short, away from his face. His head tilted towards him from the gesture, receiving comfort from the calming gesture in unconsciousness. Alan smiled. At least he could get a small measure of comfort whilst unconscious, hiding away from reality. He looked at his son one last time before leaving him in the company of Colby and went to go see Charlie. This was his daily routine. Go to seen Don in the morning, then visit Charlie, spend the day with the one that seemed in the most need of his presence as the time.

Spending his day with Charlie was a very calm day. On some days he would wake for a minute, maybe two if they were lucky and then peacefully slip back into unconsciousness. What made it hard for Alan when his youngest did wake was having to look his son in the eye. His eyes were never clear. They were clouded, glazed, unable to focus. They would roll around the room in jerky, darting movements, though that was beginning to smooth out with each waking. They were the exact image of pure terror. Each time he looked into his son's eyes, he would see such overwhelming fear that it would send eerie shivers down his spine and urge him to look over his shoulder, but he never let himself look behind. He couldn't let himself be swayed by the overpowering fear in his son's eyes. He made himself look deep into Charlie's eyes and fought so desperately to sooth and chase away the fear.

He only ever saw one other thing in Charlie's eyes…Pain. His son was in a constant state of pure agony. The power of the memories as each and every injury and wound was inflicted with slow, patient, malice, with the palpable intent to kill, lingered heavily over his son's mind. Each and every wound echoed the agony through the glaze of terror and exhaustion, tainting his son's eyes with a darkness that he prayed to God would fade away quickly with time and recovery. Charlie would visibly shudder in the wake of the sheer agony coursing through his every fiber. Seeing his son is such unbearable pain made his every bone ache in pitiful sympathy, desperate to alleviate his son's pain by bearing the brunt of the burden. But that was something he could never do. He was only a miniscule by-stander to his son's agony, only capable of giving hope and alleviating the fears as best he could, Charlie's agony was his to bear and bear alone. The drugs would be the only mercy he would receive on that end. His youngest would soon succumb to the darkness mere moments after having conquered it, but with each waking, he would be a little closer, a little stronger, a step nearer to vanquishing the darkness for good. He only wished he could do more for his son.

He came in to find a doctor examining his son. Normally he would have been concerned, but as of late they had been visiting quite often to see how well Charlie was progressing. Apparently he was exceeding every one of the doctors' and nurses' predictions on his recovery speed, now that it was somewhat apparent that he was far more likely to fully recover than to fall to the infections and die of his wounds, unlike the early predictions had insisted upon. Alan couldn't help but smile. It seemed that no matter what Charlie was doing, he always exceeded the expectations as well as the limitations. It gave him hope to see that it was carrying over to this unexpected hospital recovery.

Alan maneuvered to the head of his son, careful not to get in the doctor's way, but he also wasn't going to be dissuaded from greeting his son in the normal morning fashion. He brushed the long, oily, limp strands of hair from his son's face, constantly wondering how his son was managing to get it there in his condition, and kissed him gently on the forehead. Much to his surprise as well as the doctor's, whom hadn't actually seen Charlie awake during his long stay at the hospital, he peeled his eyes open slowly.

**:-:-:-:-:-:**

Charlie felt like he was in a soup. Everything was so thick and heavy. It was dark, very dark. _Where am I? What's going on? Why is everything so dark?_ He clawed at the darkness, longing for something recognizable, light, grayness, anything but this ominous darkness. The darkness was overpowering, he had to escape it, get back to the light. He could feel a presence, next to him, over him. He longed for that presence. Being alone for so long, any company was welcome. He felt a touch on his forehead. It was gentle, kind, and comforting. It brushed away and then there was another touch. It was a gentler, soothing touch that had a familiar taste to it. He longed to look at the presence above him. It took every bit of strength but he did force his eyes to open. The effort left him thoroughly exhausted, but he wasn't in the darkness anymore.

Everything had a dark grey coloring to it. Nothing was bright, but compared to the darkness, this was very bright. Two figures floated over him. Their movements looked to be in slow motion to him. His vision swirled meanderingly as if he were looking through water, and he heard this faint, indiscernible rushing through his ears that drowned out all other sound but in itself was quite quiet. The figures were distorted, slightly marred in the blur. They were so close, practically on top of him. His eyelids started to droop but he forced them up again. He didn't want to go back to the darkness.

Pain scoured through his entire body abruptly. All sensations of feeling returned like a ton of bricks. He tried to gasp and wave upon wave of pure and abrupt agony crashed over him, but he couldn't. Something was in his throat. He was choking. They were choking him. This was it, they had finally decided to kill him. Charlie panicked. He couldn't let them kill him. He had to see his brother. He had to see Donnie. He raised his arm to push away the figure closest to him but a fresh wave of pure agony broke through his arm and it dropped the full few inches he'd managed to raise it. _I can't breathe. I can't breathe. Air, I need to breathe. Oh God, I can't breathe, please I need to breathe. I'm choking. Help! Someone Help Me! I can't breathe!_ He found his other hand. He fought to raise it. It hurt to move but the pain was bearable compared to his other arm. He reached his hand to his mouth. He wrapped his fingers around the obstruction sticking out of his mouth. He tried to pull but something had stopped him. He could pull his arm away from his mouth. He kept an iron grip on the obstruction, desperately trying to pull away. A hand. A hand was gripped around his wrist. Fingers pried at his own fingers. He tried to maintain his grip on the obstruction, but they were too strong. He felt his arm being pushed back down.

He tried to move his other arm again. He couldn't even get it up the miniscule inch or two he'd achieved on his first try and the agonizing pain redoubled. The world was spinning like sideways cartwheels. He couldn't keep up with the spinning. He heard a sound, a voice. He recognized that voice, but from where? He turned his head weakly towards the voice but all he could see was a mesh of pale gray on a background of darker grey and even some black. Everything was floating weightlessly. It made him dizzy from all the spinning and the floating. The voice spoke to him. It tantalized him not knowing the owner of that voice. He had to know. His mind wouldn't work, it wouldn't think. He squirmed his body haphazardly trying to escape the restraining hands. He felt so tired. Everything hurt. The pain, it was unbearable. He tried to cry out but the sound distorted from the obstruction in his throat. It was something between a groan, gurgle, and a whimper. It sounded so awful. It grated his ears. Everything hurt. He tossed his head piteously, too weak to fight any other way. He had to escape. _I'm so tired. Just need some sleep. Have to escape, so tired. Run…sleep…hurts…escape…sleep…_His arm felt warm and fuzzy, then it disappeared completely. The world faded to the blackness again. He barely registered the fear of return to darkness before his mind stopped.

**:-:-:-:-:-:**

Alan walked to Don's room in a bit of a haze. He walked glassy eyed staring at his shoes up until he walked through the door. Charlie had been awake for nearly ten minutes. That was a record and a big time jump from his past wakes. He had been alert but extremely disoriented, and confused. Fresh fear had shown in his eyes clear as crystal. The pain had been more bluntly apparent. He had tried to use the arm in a splint. Alan had gently held it down while the doctor held his other arm when he had unexpectedly grabbed the ventilator tube with unexpected quickness. He'd desperately fought against them and the ventilator, searching for an escape. In the end the doctor gave him a light sedative, just enough to help him relax and fall back asleep. Once he was resting peacefully the doctor had him sent to get an x-ray of his lungs. He wanted to see if Charlie would be ready to be off the ventilator by the end of the week, maybe sooner. He also said that he wanted to keep him on a light sedative until that time. At first Alan had openly objected but soon understood. They wanted Charlie to get more quality rest before they had to deal with emotional repercussions, seeing as how badly Don was doing with that aspect helped to persuade him, and they didn't want to risk Charlie waking up and possibly removing the tube from his throat on his own. So it was agreed. Charlie would remain sedated until the ventilator was removed. Then they would try letting him stay awake.

Alan turned his attention to Don. He was looking worse every time he saw his son. How could it be that Don's injuries had been far less serious or numerous than his brother's yet Charlie was standing a better chance of living than Don?

"How is he?" Colby looked at him sympathetically.

"Not good. He's got a temperature of 104.6 holding steady. They were able to get it down to 102 last night, but it's back up again. He's been asleep since we left yesterday I'm told." he paused seeing his words sink in for Alan. "How is Charlie this morning?"

"Doing well. He woke up while I was there and stayed awake for nearly ten minutes this time. He tried to pull out the ventilator tube so they sedated him, but they said that he could be off the ventilator by the end of the week depending how the x-ray of his lungs goes. Until he's off the machine they're going to keep him sedated." Colby smiled. This was excellent news.

"That's amazing. Charlie is really showing us his strength. He fighting to stay alive and his battle is one of miracles it seems. He'll pull through this. He's strong and he has the will to live that will and is defeating all the odds." He continued to smile at Alan. He needed to see a smile today.

"I only wish that his brother had that strength and will to live too."

"He does Alan, he's just lost his way for the moment. Once he finds his way back to where he belongs, he'll find his strength and will to live again."

"I only hope you're right." he sighed deeply truly trying to believe that his eldest would pull through this. He sat by his son's side, soothing him when some nightmare would raise its ugly head. At times his son would shiver uncontrollably, tossing his head side to side mumbling the word "no" or calling out his bother's name weakly. Alan would jump up immediately, working fervently to alleviate his son's woes. The day was spent watching over Don vigilantly, soothing him when needed, coaxing him to wake at other times, and offering reassurances not knowing if they were ever heard. At some point the doctor came to report on Charlie, stating that he would be off the ventilator in two days if his progress continued at this rate or no set backs occurred. Alan was as elated as possible in such a situation as he was in with his sons. As the day wore on Colby was able to convince him to go home, shower, have a solid meal, and get a few hours of sleep. He remained with Don whilst Alan was gone. It hadn't been easy to convince him to leave, but the fact that he'd promised to remain by Don's side during Alan's absence had won the final battle.

When Alan returned it was nearly dark. Normally this would be the time when he had to go because visiting hours were ending in a few minutes, but Don seemed to have worsened in his absence, at least that was what it looked like to him. After much bartering and quarrelling he was able to convince the nurse to let him stay the night. He was about to send Colby home for rest with much gratitude but he flatly refused to leave until Alan went home. So the two continued their vigil over Don. Nurses floated in and out and each time they left with a scowl. Alan thought that his son was getting warmer, so when the nurse left after taking all of Don's vitals, he checked the charts. He was right. Don's fever was rising ever so slowly. It was already dangerously close to 105. A few minutes after he'd sat down again the nurse returned and injected something into his iv and simply stated that it should help to reduce the fever.

Up to this point Don had been sleeping as restfully as the fever would let him, but now a dream or memory, something had change for the worse. He tossed his head violently, working furiously to sit up. Colby and he were up instantly pushing Don back down. He began to thrash against them instantly, desperately fighting to escape. He tried to pull out the iv from his hand but Colby was holding down his arm, stopping him. He fought against them, his efforts increasing exponentially. It took every ounce of effort to keep Don from escaping them and doing harm to himself. Alan tried to sooth him, but he couldn't hear past the fever. He was shouting at the top of his lungs.

"No…stop…get away…leave him alone…stop it…"

"Shhh…Don it okay, it's okay, wake up Donnie, everything is okay now. It's just a dream wake up"

"No…stop…leave him…don't touch him…stop…don't hurt him…please…I'll do it, please just stop…doesn't deserve…stop hurting him…please"

"Wake up Donnie, Charlie is safe, you saved him, but now you need to wake up. Open your eyes Don" Don's voice was beginning to weaken.

"Stop…don't touch him…stop hurting…leave him alone…I'll do anything…please…stop…don't kill him…do anything…stop cutting…don't kill"

"Easy Don, everything is fine. Charlie is alive. Wake up Don. Open your eyes. Calm down" Don's voice was barely a whisper now.

"Please…stop killing him…I don't want him to die…I'm sorry…I'm so sorry Charlie…" His eyes cracked open tiredly.

"That's a good boy. Charlie is safe. You're safe. Everything is okay now" He seemed to deflate rapidly.

"Dad"

"I'm here my boy"

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do it…I don't want to kill him…I don't want Charlie to die"

"It's okay Donnie, you didn't kill him. He's still alive. He's safe. Charlie isn't going to die" Don couldn't stop he fearful tears. He was so afraid. He felt alone. His father held him close, rocking him gently. He shivered miserably, pressing closer to the warmth of his father. He sobbed into his father's arm. He was so afraid.

"I'm so sorry."

**A/N: So this is what i get when i can't sleep at night...i wrote all of this last night...what do you think? is it good? Oh by the way...i've got two chapters for the "He Said Goodbye" sequel finished and will begin posting it soon...it's giving me some trouble though...more difficult for what i'm trying to do so wish me luck!**


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Alan sat wearily in the chair next to his eldest son. It had been a long night. Even with Colby helping to restrain Don it had been a fierce battle to keep him from hurting himself in a fevered panic. He was now packed with ice all around and over him. The drugs were only stopping the progression of the fever, not reducing it. He rubbed his eyes, needing more sleep than he would admit to even himself. Don at least was finally sleeping peacefully. Nightmares of the past two weeks had plagued him all through the night and most of the morning. Colby handed him a hot coffee, resuming his chair on the other side of Don's bed. They sat in silence, nursing their coffee, utterly exhausted. David popped his head into the room cheerfully, far more energetic than Alan and Colby could ever imagine being.

"Good morning…I think" He looked the two weary souls in the room. "Rough night?" They released a collective sigh.

"Very rough. He can't seem to beat this infection and the fever is just making it impossible for him to actually rest. Us as well." Don groaned, his eyes just barley opened a slit and widening. Struggling to sit up, bags of ice rolling off of him onto the floor. His eyes were glazed and unfocused. He shook from the strenuous effort, reaching towards the iv in his hand, and pulling the oxygen mask off. Alan stood quickly popping as he went. He pushed Don down again with an ease that was somewhat frightening. He moaned and continued to struggle to be free. Colby grabbed his hand and stopped him from pulling the iv out.

"Let go…have to get to Charlie…have to save him…" Don's words slurred, his eyes rolled around, and he waved around dizzily as he continued to struggle.

"No, you can't even stand. And you don't need to save Charlie because you already did save him. Now lay down you need to rest."

"No, have to see Charlie, let go…have to see Charlie…tell him I'm sorry…"

"You can tell him after you get over the infection, so the sooner you want to see him the sooner you'll lay down and sleep." Don dragged his blurring eyes to look at his father. Everything was blurred but he knew it was his father. He could feel the exhaustion setting in again. He relented. His father pushed him to lay down and replaced the oxygen mask. Colby waited until he was sure Don wouldn't try to make a break for it and pull out the iv before he let go of his arm. Don laid there feeling utterly drained. He was so miserable. Why was everything so fuzzy. He wished he could think clearly. He drifted into a feverish sleep yet again, wishing he could see his brother. Alan breathed a sigh as he watched his son drift back into sleep. He looked so miserable. Alan wished he could do something for his son.

"I called Terry, she's on her way. The two of you need to go get some sleep, perhaps a decent meal. You look terrible. You both could use a little beauty sleep."

"Are you sure? I mean you did just give up a kidney, I bet that wasn't very fun."

"Nonsense, they gave me all those good happy drugs, it was a total blast." Colby and Alan smiled. David was determined. They thanked him and trudged to the car, looking forward to some refreshing sleep. It felt like an eternity since he'd slept.

**:-:-:-:-:-:**

The second night was just as rough for Don if not worse. The only bright spot was that his fever had reduced a degree since the night before. The nightmares visited him ten fold. David had gone home under threat of being readmitted by the doctor if he didn't, but Terry stayed, and Alan was very glad she did. Alan and Colby would keep Don on the bed and somewhat restrain, barely able to keep him from removing the iv in his struggles while she would catch the ice bags that fell, placing them back on him and getting fresh buckets of ice as needed. Alan was beginning to think that they wouldn't make it through the night when the sky outside began to gray. Don quieted into a deep sleep exhausted just after sunrise. They had just sat down heavily in their chairs when the doctor came in and smiled at the dreary sight. He checked Don's condition this morning and was pleased.

"It seems you've done a good job last night. His fever is down to 101.3 at last. I think it's safe to give him some sedatives to help him get some actual rest. I won't be removing Charlie from the ventilator until around noon today at least so I think it's safe for you all to go home and get some decent rest. I don't want to see you here between now and noon. Doctors orders." They all consented too tired to disagree. He was right. Terry went back to her apartment and Colby drove Alan home and crashed on the couch again. They slept like the dead for hours. They freshened up after a good hard sleep. Colby called Larry and Amita and asked them to meet Alan at the hospital. He needed to go home and shower then actually show up for work. He dropped Alan off at the hospital before going home since that was where Alan's car was at. They slept like the dead for a while. When Alan woke several hours later Amita and Larry were in the dining room talking over a drink. They smiled at him. Alan felt anxious as he walked out the door to see his son, Charlie. It was time for him to wake up.

**:-:-:-:-:-:**

Charlie felt numb. Everything was dark, muted. He felt so heavy. His body was like lead. Everything felt so still. He felt like a massive blanket had been wrapped around his body, pinning his smallest movements. He clawed at the darkness, desperate for reality. The world was beginning to develop. It was cold. Still dark. His body felt tingly all over. The sensation became more abrupt. It warped suddenly. The clarity of the pain was intolerable. He heard himself moan faintly. Pain ripped through his throat. The pain intensified. His eyes popped open of their own volition.

**:-:-:-:-:-:**

Alan was pleased when they removed Charlie's tube and put an oxygen mask on him. He wasn't awake yet but they thought he would be okay. They waited to double check that he really did get enough oxygen breathing on his own before they left them in privacy. He waited anxiously for Charlie to wake. The doctors said he would wake up at any time. At times he would talk to his son to see if there was any sign of waking but he remained the same. Larry and Amita both tried talking to him, coaxing him to wake, but he remained the same. Alan made himself not worry. The sedatives were probably still in his system. They just had to wait for them to wear off. He tried to sit patiently. He jumped when Charlie moaned weakly. He was finally waking.

He lolled his head weakly, moaned again. He eyes darted beneath their lids. He shuddered slightly. Suddenly his eyes popped wide open. They were glazed, unfocused, they still showed the fear and excruciating pain, but there was also something else. It wasn't a lot yet but it was there. A little bit of Charlie showed through again. He glanced side to side nervously. Nothing looked familiar to him. Where was he? What happened? Why did everything hurt? Don. Where was Don? He glanced around again. There was a figure standing over him. Everything was a blur. His eyes drifted around. There were two more figures standing over him. There weren't quite as close, but they were there. Alan watched his son's eyes slide around the room loosely. He saw the fear begin to rise up.

"Charlie, son can you hear me? Charlie?" Charlie jumped at being spoken to. He didn't know what was said though. He jumped at another voice, a softer voice. Suddenly Charlie bolted upright. Amita was knocked backwards. Larry caught Amita but Charlie fell with a crash to the floor. He cried out from the pain that erupted all over. They were everywhere, reaching for him. He had to escape. Alan followed after his panicked son. Charlie was desperately trying to scramble backwards away from them all, hampered by the smooth floor and having all two legs and an arm in a cast, the other splinted. The splint was quickly falling apart. He was looking about frantically, hyperventilating, and tears beginning to flow slowly down his cheeks with a meandering that contrasted his frenetic panic. He abruptly lurched to the side and vomited painfully. Alan was by his side in seconds. Charlie pulled away terrified. He struggled to scoot backwards, it was hard but he made some progress. Suddenly his back was against a wall. He was gasping for air. A pair of arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, a hand rubbing circles on his back. He tried to pull away but he didn't have the strength. The hands felt familiar. They were gentle and warm. _Dad! It's Dad!_ He sank towards his father the pain and fear overwhelming him.

Alan held Charlie tightly. At first he had resisted, but then he thought that his son had realized if nothing else that he was safe. He leaned heavily against his chest, sobbing, his fingers clutched in a death grip to his shirt. He lurched again and vomited more violently. Larry and Amita stood wide-eyed at the scene.

"D-Dad, don't l-let them get me." Charlie's voice was shaking, gasping abruptly between words. Tears streaming down his face.

"It's okay, I won't let anyone get you. You're safe. Everything will be okay." Charlie pressed even closer to his father.

"They'll come back, don't let them come back. Please. Don't let them hurt me again." Alan gripped his son even tighter. Charlie's fear was palpable throughout the room. His son was trembling against him.

"It's okay. You're safe. I won't let anyone hurt you anymore." Charlie had a death grip on his father's shirt. It seemed to be the only thing keeping his son upright without his arms wrapped around his son. He could feel the dampness on his shirt, his son sobbing into his chest. He gasped raspy breaths for air desperately. He gasped again, a strangled cry escaping him.

"Hurts. Oh Dad it hurts. It hurts. Make it stop. Hurts so bad." Suddenly Charlie went limp in Alan's arms. Alan was greatly worried.

"Charlie. Charlie. Answer me Charlie" he didn't respond. Alan shifted him in his arms. His head lolled backwards weakly revealing his face. He was unconscious with a sheen of tears all down his cheeks. The doctor entered and immediately ran to them.

"What happened?"

"He woke up and, and panicked, then he fell off the bed and crawled to this corner and threw up. After that I was holding him, trying to calm him down and he said something about pain then he went limp." The doctor nodded.

"Help me get him back on the bed." With a little bit of struggle they were able to gently get Charlie back on the bed. His breathing was strong, though a little fast. The doctor looked him over to see if he'd done any damage during the panic. His vitals were strong.

"Is he okay?" Alan was having trouble keeping the panic down now that he didn't have to be useful.

"I don't think he did any damage but I'm going to run a series of tests to be sure. That did not go well at all. If we can't keep him calm enough that he does harm to himself then I'm going to have to have him restrained until he's not as panicked or disoriented, but I will only do that as a last resort." Alan's heart sank, both sons fighting for their lives, one believing himself a killer, the other possibly in restraints to keep him from doing harm to himself. This was impossible. He sat in his son's room, waiting for what seemed like hours while Charlie under went test to see if he harmed himself. The nurses brought Charlie back in and got him settled. They said that he was fine and left the room. Alan settled himself in, waiting vigilantly for Charlie to wake again. Amita and Larry were sitting closer to him than before, not willing to risk him getting away from them again. They would be there for Charlie, this time.

**A/N: Hey sorry took so long, limited access to internet lately, will improve soon! I hope you enjoy! Let me know!**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Oh My Gosh! I'm so sorry that this took over a year! I hit a major writing burn out and couldn't write anything for a month, and then when I could write again, I couldn't write Numb3rs! That was so scary when that happened. Anyways, I understand if y'all hate me. I deserve it. But I promise, writer's block or not, I will not let that whole burnout thingy happen again! Again, my sincerest apologies, I feel so horrible about doing that to such faithful readers! Other than my apologies I wanted to let you know that along with this, the sequel to "He Said Goodbye" has been moved from the far back burners to top priority and is progressing. My deepest thanks to FraidyCat for all of her fantastic whumping stories! They really helped get me back into the swing of things. Also, one last thanks to Noma for her "Getting Used to It" story, it helped me with my sequel(don't worry, nothing being copied!) And now that I've seriously rambled! On to the chapter! Hope you enjoy! Reviews(though no longer deserved) are greatly desired!**

Chapter 17

Don spent the next two days in a fevered haze. It was hard to tell the difference between asleep and awake. He couldn't be sure, but he thought that the times when Colby was present was the waking moments and when he was hearing the voice of his brother was sleep. He hoped it was, he couldn't bare for his brother to be here. Charlie was dead soon anyways. Thanks to him. It felt like an eternity those two days. He wasn't aware just how much time had passed, not finding out until later, but he was sure it felt like a week. He knew that he'd been right about being a killer and hated by those he knew because he only saw his father twice. He would come, see that Colby was there, and leave again. He was glad his father had finally realized the truth. He shouldn't waste his time with him. He had more important things to do.

The voice, Charlie's voice was the only one that would tell him the truth, how he'd failed his brother and was no better than the criminals he'd put behind bars. At first he tried not to listen or argue with his brother. But after a while he was so tired, so miserably ill that he didn't have the strength to argue and slowly each and every word sank to his heart. It sent chills up his spine hearing what he'd become. There were times that he wondered how he'd gotten to this place, where the only people that knew the true killer inside was himself and his brother whom he'd killed. Eventually Charlie's voice faded back into the fevered oblivion and he was back to Colby being there. It was strange, Colby never left, never abandon him. He didn't understand, everyone else seemed to understand that he wasn't worth their time. Why didn't Colby? He was always there, much of the time having to hold a can under his chin because he couldn't stop retching. He felt so tired. Don wondered how he could continue vomiting like this without actually eating something. That was the last known thought before he slipped into restless sleep again.

Colby sat quietly next to Don's bed. His friend was flushed red, shivering uncontrollably, sleeping restlessly. His fever was no longer dangerously high, but it was high enough that it prevented him from getting a restful sleep, or to escape the nightmares that plagued him. Alan had stopped by this morning, as he always did, but as usual, Don was in a feverish sleep. The doctors had said that the fever was slowly diminishing and that as long as it didn't spike or increase again, he would beat it by tomorrow. Colby wasn't so sure, but kept the thought to himself. Several hours had passed since then. They were filled with moments where Colby thought Don might actually be getting some rest, but mostly he would be muttering in his sleep, body jerking weakly every now and then, head tossing side to side, desperate to escape whatever nightmare plagued his mind. He sat up straighter and leaned in when he saw Don's sticky eyelids peel back and loll about the room in a feverish glaze. Sluggishly they landed on him, and with what looked like a great deal of effort, stayed.

"Colby?" it was a hoarse whisper at best.

"Right here Don."

"D-don't waste…your time…here."

"How can watching over my closest friend in a time of need be a waste of time?" he looked hard at Don.

"Not…worth…it." Don gulped trying to get each word out. His mouth felt like sand paper. Colby being extremely perceptive noticed and started to spoon ice chips into his mouth. Don sucked on them weakly but greedily. They were like the nectar of the gods.

"You are very worth it Don. You deserve more than I can do for you." Don blinked sluggishly and looked away. He didn't believe Colby. He was amazed that he finished the entire cup of ice chips, but also found himself wanting more, but also felt too tired to ask. He shivered miserably again, pain radiating from his torso so that he couldn't hold back the groan. He didn't see Colby's worried look.

"Are you in pain Don?"

"Doesn't matter." Colby scowled.

"Yes it does matter Don. If you're too busy being in pain you won't get better to see your brother." Don gave a sad laugh.

"Charlie's dead, or will be soon, remember."

"That's where you're wrong. He alive and doing well. Waking up every now and then too." Don looked at him incredulously, or attempted, failing miserably.

"Nice…try…"

"Don Eppes you know I wouldn't lie to you. And if you still don't believe me, beat this infection enough for the doc to let you see him." Don wasn't sure what he wanted. He had thought he wanted to see his brother, but the very thought of seeing him sent unbearable fear of what might happen constricted his heart. He didn't respond to the comment. Eventually he drifted into a restless sleep again. He spent the last day and a half, drifting in and out of a fevered sleep, unaware that each time he woke, the fever was reduced from before. Slowly he felt his strength returning to him, though he still felt incredibly weak. By the third day, he barely had a fever at all, only a .5 above normal. Currently, the staff, as well as Colby, were trying to shove a bowl of broth down his throat. He looked at it disinterestedly, but made an effort, sipping very slowly.

--oo0oo--

Everything was heavy. He was in a fog. He couldn't tell up from down or left from right. He was floating within the fog weightlessly, and yet felt so heavy. The fog pressed against him. He felt detached, like he was above his body, a separate entity from it. He didn't like this, it was uncomfortable, frightening. He clawed at the utter darkness, desperate to be free. _Where am I? What's happening? Why can't I wake up?_ At an agonizingly slow rate, the fog began to lift. The first thing he noticed was he felt attached to his body again. Then the discomfort set in, a dull ache all over his body, a chill permeating to his very bone, yet a fire consuming his skin. The dull ache sharpened severely by the moment to become an unbearable agony. The pain continued to increase, the confusion and fear mounting just as quickly.

Alan had been sitting there, doing a crossword to occupy his mind, finding that if he continued to watch his son, not blinking as tended to happen when he looked at Charlie, his eyelids would become stuck open. He jumped when he heard Charlie moan. He hadn't done that since his earlier episode. In fact he hadn't so much as twitched since the panic attack two days before. It scared him that his son hadn't shown any sign of waking for so long, but the doctor was adamant that it was to be expected given that it had been the first thing Charlie did since recovering from such bad conditions. He was now hovering over his son. He could see Amita and Larry holding his other arm gently, determined to keep him still this time.

"Charlie. Charlie. Wake up son. Please wake up." he could see his son's eyes twitching beneath the lids in response to his voice.

"Please wake up son." he grimaced, head lolling sideways and moaned weakly. Slowly he progressed to head tossing weakly as he continued to moan. Then after what seemed an eternity, his eyelids peeled back slowly. They were glazed, pain and fear evident, but they were much clearer than before. The doctor had said the second time he woke might go better because the drug would be out of his system completely and disorientation might not be as severe. Alan prayed he was right. Charlie was looking about sluggishly, eyes never settling on one spot for more then a second. He started to shake slightly, eyes now darting about wildly, whimpering as he struggled to sit up and escape, the terror building, beginning to hyperventilate. Amita being the closest to the button called for a nurse. Alan was talking soothingly to Charlie. He stroked the hair out of his son's face while holding down a cast arm. Suddenly Charlie looked his father in the eye, the confusion ebbing slightly to be replaced with recognition. Slowly, far too slowly, he slowed his breathing and calmed, sinking back into his bed exhausted.

"Dad?"

"That's right. I'm right here. It's okay. You're safe now, it's going to be okay." he was shivering roughly. Alan traded with Amita so that he could hold Charlie's splinted hand. The moment he'd gone slightly out of Charlie's field of vision he's started to panic but immediately calmed when his father returned, now gently holding his hand.

"hurts….hurts so bad…" he could barely speak, what little he said left him feeling winded.

"It's okay, the doctor is coming to give you something for the pain, just stay with me." Charlie's eyes drifted shut for a moment, those three words sent an unknown chill down his spine. The briefest flash of a distant memory raging through his mind. It was a building. The world was very dark, everything hurt, terror constricted his heart. He could see Colby floating above him and those three words rang out. _Stay with me._

"Charles." he snapped his eyes open again, he recognized Larry's voice but couldn't see him. His father was stroking his hair gently a worried look on his face, and now there was another man. The terror returned. _Who was he? He was one of them! He had to be one of them!_ Charlie started to panic staring wide-eyed at the doctor, searching frantically for an exit.

"Shhh…it's okay Charlie, it's the doctor. It's okay." he looked at his father again. His father's voice soothed him. The doctor smiled at him.

"I'm glad to see you awake Charlie. You had us all worried for a while, but you seem to be mending quickly. You've still got a moderate infection with a mild fever but both are quickly dissipating." Charlie nodded weakly.

"As you've noticed one arm is in a cast, the other splinted with only minor fractures, the cast will be off in a week or so, but the splint can be removed by the end of the week. The numerous cuts and gashes are healing nicely, though there is likely to be much scarring. The burns on you're face, neck, and esophagus are healed with very little scarring, though it might be a little tender to swallow for a while. There are numerous other minor injuries that still need healed, your ribs are a long ways from being healed and will cause some pain for a while. Over all you can expect, barring complications to be out of here in three weeks." Charlie looked at his father again frightened. It scared him the large list of injuries he had. The exhaustion and pain were beginning to overwhelm him so that he barely heard the doctor's question.

"Now Charlie, can you tell me how the pain is?" he blinked blearily at him for a moment.

"Hurts…hurts bad." he didn't see the doctor nod and inject something into his iv, all he knew was the pain slowly eased enough that he could ask his father the question that had been burning in his mind.

"Dad, what 'appened?"

"I don't know son, I really don't know." he fought to keep his eyes opened just a little longer. Something was wrong. Someone was missing.

"Wh're 's Donnie?"


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Here ya go! Another chapter! It only took me what? Two days? You people love me! Hey, if you have this on alert, could you review, even if no one else does? It would really help a lot, and speed the process for another chapter! Thanks! Enjoy this Chapter! R&R!**

Chapter 18

The last thing he'd wanted was food, he still didn't want it. The thought of food turned his stomach, he just didn't want food. But much to his dismay, Colby had stayed until the bowl of broth was drained, and again to his dismay, remained where he was for over an hour, trying to goad him into conversation. Colby's presence ruined Don's plan of getting sick once he left. By the time he had been left alone, he'd finished digesting and wouldn't have anything to throw up. He slept for a while, surprised when he woke how much more refreshed he felt, and that Colby had returned, another bowl of that awful broth in hand. He scowled, but wasn't given a choice in eating, so he again found himself sipping the soup slowly, and again he ignored all attempts at conversation. Time dragged on, and against his hopes, he could feel that he wasn't going to lapse back into a potentially fatal fever. It would have been so much easier that way, but now, he knew that he would have to face his brother, whom according to anyone he spoke to, was alive and doing well. He was glad for his brother that he'd lived, but there were two worries in his mind. How could his brother ever get past the torture? And could he live his life knowing that Charlie hated him now?

No, he knew the answer to that second question. There was no doubt in his mind that his brother hated him, and he knew, without a doubt, that he could never live with himself knowing what he'd done, and that Charlie hated him. And though his father denied it, he hated him too. He had seen what he'd done to Charlie, and was probably seeing how he'd mentally and emotionally destroyed his brother. No one, not even his father, could not hate him after that. After a while Colby left again and a nurse came to check on Don, leaving with a smile and giving him permission to walk as far as the bathroom. Don hadn't cared until he found that he had to use the facility. It was amazing how much energy it had taken him to shuffle to a bathroom only a few feet away. After relieving himself he looked hard at him appearance in the mirror. His face was deathly pale, his eyes sunken with dark circles under his eyes, the remnants of the bruises present but just a shadow. When he lifted his shirt he could count the ribs with little effort, two of the stab wounds were nearly healed, with some scarring, but the third was just barely scabbing over. Ironic, how the wound that nearly killed him, and refused to heal, was the wound self-inflicted. His eyes he could see the sadness and horror that still haunted him. It was a different person. Someone he never knew, and hated with all his soul.

He shuffled back to his bed, fully exhausted, desperate and incapable at the same time, of erasing the image of himself as he was now, from his mind. As he settled himself back on the bed he tried to remember how he'd gotten here. How he had come to this, but the answer came. He couldn't find the transition, it just was. He wasn't the Don he knew and loved before, and he was the Don that he so despised and feared now. There was no warning, there was no transition, it just happened. He was too weak to stop it, and he was too weak to go back. Against his will, the exhaustion over took him and he drifted into a dreamless, deep sleep. He was surprised and perturbed when he awoke again to find his father sitting in a chair, very near his bed, just watching him serenely. Except for that first moment when he'd seen his father sitting there, he refused to look him in the eye.

"Hello Donnie" Don remained silent. "don't you dare try to shut me out. I'll just keep pushing." Don still wouldn't look at him.

"You should be with Charlie."

"I have two sons."

"Charlie deserves you, not me."

"Don't do this to yourself. You don't deserve this punishment you're giving yourself."

"I deserve every bit of it and more for what I did to Charlie." he stared unblinking at his feet.

"You didn't have any control over what happened to him, and to you."

"It was my fault, all of it."

"It wasn't your fault, any part of it. There was nothing you could do."

"There was plenty I could have done. I could have been there for him."

"How? He was kidnapped. How could you have been there, if he'd been taken."

"I had known he was home, alone. I knew about your trip, and that Charlie was alone. How could I just leave him alone like that, knowing he was alone. What kind of brother ignores the perfect opportunity to spend time with his brother? Especially when he was alone?"

"Don, he had every opportunity to go see you as well. He told me himself, before I left, that he was looking forward to some time alone to work on a personal project of his in solitude. It was his way of having a vacation. Even if you had been there, you couldn't have done anything to stop them. You aren't perfect."

"I'm not sure anymore that I would have even tried to help if I had been there."

"What on earth would make you think that you wouldn't try to save your brother?"

"Because, I knew he was kidnapped, knew he was in danger. I even started to get help, when I knew he'd been kidnapped, but I…I…"

"You what Donnie?"

"I stopped. I willingly stopped myself from getting help from those that could save him." Alan thought for a moment, searching for the right words to say.

"What stopped you Donnie? What was it that stopped you from getting help?" Don looked father away from his father, to the wall. Alan knew he was fighting an emotional battle. He could see that Don wanted so desperately to tell, but was struggling to bring himself to say it. He watched as the battle raged, the intensity growing beyond what Don could take. He drew his knees to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs, and began to rock back and forth, staring helplessly at the foot of his bed. Alan pushed for an answer gently.

"You can tell me Donnie. What stopped you from getting help?" Don gulped painfully, looking up at the ceiling as if he would find the strength he needed to be there. He rocked back and forth a little harder, lip trembling as tears burned a path down his cheeks. Alan took his son in a fierce hug, one hand rubbing circles on his back soothingly.

"Shhh…it's okay my boy. Just let it out. You can tell me. Nothing you say could ever make me hate you. You don't have to do this alone, just talk to me. Don't keep this bottled up. Don't let it destroy you Donnie. Don't make yourself do it alone." Alan was pleased to feel Don lean into him and grip his shirt tightly as if it were his only life line to sanity, fighting back the sobs.

"Th-they stopped m-me. I couldn't m-make them s-stop." Don drifted back into his silent sobbing so Alan prodded for more elaboration.

"How Donnie? How did they stop you?" he made sure to keep his voice as gentle and supporting as possible, whilst steeling himself for the truth.

"Th-the-they wouldn't s-stop h-h-hurting him. I-I tried to get h-help. B-but they c-called again and w-wouldn't s-stop h-h-hurting him. I-I begged them to s-stop but they just kept h-hitting him over a-and o-over a-again w-with the b-b-bat. I-I-I t-tried t-to s-stop them. Th-they said it w-was my f-fault f-for trying to g-get h-help. I tried…I tried…tried…." Don broke into uncontrollable sobs, barely gasping for air, clutching his father for dear life, incapable of speaking. He felt so terribly thin and fragile in his father's arms. It frightened him how his son, his strong, invincible Donnie, could become so fragile. He held his son tightly until his sobs eased into hiccups then short, barely audible gasps as he tried to slow and deepen his breathing. Slowly he stopped hyperventilating and eased back to lean against the bed again. He still didn't meet his father's eyes.

Alan eased himself to sit on the bed with Don and put a hand on his knee, still curled to his chest. He looked so exhausted, physically, mentally, and emotionally. He couldn't even begin to fathom what his Donnie had truly gone through during these two weeks A time that had felt so short to him, had been an eternity for his son. He was staring at his hands tiredly, apparently deep in thought. He didn't even seem to be aware that Alan was still in the room. They sat in a comfortable, but thick silence for quite awhile before Alan broke the silence softly.

"Think about what you just told me. You didn't stop from getting help because you didn't want to help your brother." Don flinched slightly. "You stopped because you couldn't bare to let them continue to hurt your brother. You stopped because you wanted to save him from pain." Don finally met his eyes. It chilled Alan to the bone how haunted they were.

"I should have kept going, never answer that stupid phone. I knew it was them and I still answered. I let them stop me. He wouldn't have been hurt if I'd just kept going and not answered." his father sighed heavily.

"Or they might have killed him right there. Did you think of that as a possibility?" Don stared at him shocked.

"I-I hadn't thought of that."

"Even if you didn't realize it Donnie, you were choosing your reactions so that they would keep Charlie alive. You were fighting to keep him alive. It took a lot of strength to do that, but you managed."

"Yeah, he's alive. He's alive and hates me now."

"Don, your brother doesn't hate you, not in the least bit."

"How do you know?"

"Because ever since he woke up he's been asking to see you." Don looked fearfully at his father.

"N-no I can't see him, I can't I can't."

"Shh…calm down Don, you won't see him today. But the doctor said that as long as you don't have a sudden set back and someone to make sure you're eating like you should, he'll release you tomorrow evening."

"Really?

"That's right. You're going home tomorrow. You need to go see Charlie after you are released, it doesn't have to be long, but your brother needs to see you, and you need to see him just as much."

"But…"

"You have an entire day and a half to be ready. Just think about your reason for stopping, and what it was you were trying to save. And most of all, remember that Charlie loves you, and doesn't hate or blame you for any of this." Don nodded at him slightly.

"C-can I have some time alone…to think?"

"If you promise to eat the food I'm going come back with, all of it, and not go throw it up five minutes later, then I'll give you your privacy." Don smiled sheepishly.

"You knew about that huh?"

"I'm your father, I know everything." he was pleased to see a slightly stronger smile.

"Deal, just…don't bring broth, anything but broth." When his father returned, it was with a both of chicken noodle soup. It didn't taste great, but it was better than the broth. Don made sure to eat it slowly, being the first solid he'd eaten, fearful of the nausea returning, but it didn't. he stewed deeply in his thoughts, frightened by the chance to see his brother, and yet, in a small corner of his being, was excited as well. He still felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, but it was a little bit lighter, and less overwhelming. He dozed peacefully through the day, trying to prepare himself for his visit with Charlie the next day. He couldn't calm the seen of anxiousness that had settled over him. Sometime late in the evening Colby dropped by again, immediately sensing Don's anxiousness. He spent well over an hour listening to Don rant and rave about the visit, pacing back and forth, thankfully where a set of greens. By the time Don had finished, he was exhausted again, but decidedly calmer about seeing Charlie.

The next day was spent getting him ready to go home. He had to admit that the hot shower he had had felt wonderful and refreshing, only slightly stinging as the hot water hit his remaining stab wound that wasn't quite healed. It felt good to be in his own clothes again. He'd had two large bowls of soup already, looking forward to his father's soup at home and the comfort of the couch. His dad was off with the doctor filling out the release papers and filling prescriptions. Colby found Don in the room, packing up his father's stuff and setting it by the door slowly. The nervousness was palpable through the room. Don acknowledged with a nervous grin that dissipated almost as quickly as it appeared.

"Hey, I brought your car back, be sure to let your dad drive" Don nodded distractedly. He finished with his work and stood, fidgeting beside Colby, chewing on his lip nervously. When his dad returned, he would be off to see Charlie. Don wasn't sure he was ready.

"It's going to be okay Don, he doesn't blame you, you know. Going to see him is just a small step towards normalcy. Everything will work out." Don looked at him.

"I hope so." Alan stepped into the room cheerfully.

"You ready Donnie?"

"Y-yeah, I'm ready."

"Okay, we'll come back for the stuff after the visit." he nodded wordlessly. The walk to the room was a quiet, solemn walk, chalked up with anxiety. Don found himself standing in front of Charlie's door, afraid to open it. He watched his father, Colby, Larry, and Amita, walking down the hall, giving them privacy, at his request. He was afraid, he didn't want to admit it out loud, but deep down, he'd been afraid of how Charlie would react to seeing him, and he was afraid of how everyone else would have reacted to Charlie's reaction, so he'd asked them to leave. They had agreed to go, get food for Charlie, and come back. It hadn't been easy for his dad to leave, but if it was what Don wanted, he would do what he'd been asked. He looked down at his shaking hand, hovering over the doorknob and with all his strength, forced himself to open the door. He left the door ajar just barely and made his way towards Charlie's bed. Halfway there he froze to the spot, paralyzed. Charlie was in the throes of a monstrous nightmare, unable to escape, and pleading for help.

"No…please…stop….hurts….please….stop….help….Donnie….help me…Donnie…save me….hurts….make them stop….please….Donnie…make them stop….Donnie…why won't you help me….please….make them stop….hurts…hurts so bad…why won't you make them stop….I'm sorry…please help….Donnie…HELP!" Charlie shot up, fully awake now, the cobwebs floating away from his mind quickly.

"Donnie?" his brother stood before him, trembling, looking like he'd seen a ghost. He stumbled backwards into the door which slammed shut. He recoiled swinging it open again. "Donnie! Donnie wait!" Larry and Amita rounded the corner one with a bowl of broth, the other with chicken noodle soup, just in case Don ended up staying longer. Alan and Colby were just ahead of them, talking together about Don and Charlie. Suddenly they saw Don stumbling out of the room, looking like a caged animal, and could hear Charlie yelling for him to wait. Don spotted them and bolted in the opposite direction, at a dead run. Colby took off after Don and Alan darted into Charlie's room, leaving a stunned Larry and Amita in the hall.

Colby chased after Don running full speed and cursing the head start Don had. If it weren't for that he would have caught him already seeing as Don wasn't capable of his normal full speed. They rounded a corner and he found himself crashing into a nurse. He spun wildly, fighting to maintain his balance. By the time he'd regained his balance and continued his pursuit, Don had an insurmountable lead. He bit back the dismay and darted down the stairs, barely able to see Don below him. He continued to chase, knowing he couldn't catch him now. He burst out the exit, assaulted by the chill air, just in time to see Don driving away speedily. He was gone, again.

**A/N: You like?**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Well here is another chapter! Thank you all for your great reviews! I look forward to hearing your comments on this, it was somewhat hard to write! Let me know!**

Chapter 19

He gripped the steering wheel white knuckled, his entire body as tense as it would go, his foot pressing the pedal clear to the floor, hyperventilating, as he fought back the tears. He fought to keep his lip from trembling, blinking back the tears, barely able to see the road he drove upon. His mind never registered the time that passed as he drove, never noticed the exhaustion beginning to overwhelm him, his foot easing off the gas, allowing him to slow to the speed limit. He drove mindlessly, not seeing anything around him, trying to forget everything. No matter how hard he tried to forget, push it out of his mind, he kept seeing his brother, crying out for his help. Begging for him to save him from the nightmare, and all he could do was stand there, and watch. That's all he would ever be able to do, stand by and watch. He was useless, useless and a failure to those who had needed him the most. A failure, that's all he was, a failure to Charlie.

He was lost, he didn't know where he was but he didn't care. He barely felt the stabs of pain. He'd known that during his quick get away he'd reopened the injury, he had felt it bleed, only a little, already it had clotted. The green signs went by in a blur that he never saw. He was detached from his body. Unaware of the actions it took, too deep inside his mind, he could feel himself spiraling downward, falling into himself, again.

--oo0oo--

Charlie sat, staring at his hands. He was beyond confused, and he was definitely frightened. His memories were not a place he wanted to be, but he couldn't stay out of them, or at least, the memories of the two weeks, as he found out it had been, and the moment only a few hours ago that confused and scared him the most. He couldn't understand, no matter how much he wanted to make sense of it. Ever since he'd woken, to that pained, and frightened memory of seeing Colby, sitting over him, rescuing him, he hadn't woken alone. All except for two times had he not woken to find his father, Larry, and Amita by his side. Once it had been Colby, and the most recent, and the greatest surprise had been when he woke to find Don. It had been the first time he'd seen his brother since several days _before_ whatever it was exactly that had happened, happened. Don had never looked so ill in his life. He looked as if he'd died and been barely brought back to life, trembling before him. One minute he'd been waking from a horrible nightmare, not the first he'd had, and the next, his brother was running from him.

His father had rushed in mere moments after Don and fled, but his father didn't have any answers for him, not really. He'd rushed in not to explain, but to make sure he wasn't flat-lining or something. Apparently he'd been doing that a lot lately. After about ten minutes, Larry and Amita had joined him, bringing him some broth, but he no longer could bring himself to eat it. His father was watching him worriedly still, like he would be doing weeks from now, perhaps even for the rest of his life. Going beyond what every normal father is allowed. What was most frustrating for him was that he would be deep in thought, trying to work things out, make sense of something, anything, when he would simply fall asleep. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't stay awake long enough to finish each thought.

By morning he was able to bring himself to eat again, though he found no joy or contentment in the full feeling the food should have brought. His dreams, whether deep sleep, or simply dozing half asleep, half awake, were haunting nightmares that he could never escape and left him wanting to disappear or cry when he woke. He didn't ever want to be alone, but he pushed the people around him away went they tried to get close. He didn't know why. He didn't want to push them away, but he couldn't stop himself. The second day after Don left, he only ate because his father was feeding him until he had use of an arm. At one point he'd gotten so mad that his father had to get a really long straw or he would even attempt the broth. It was getting worse, all of it. People were pressing in from all sides, whether they were doctors, his father, or friends, they just wouldn't leave him be. He found himself just wanting to escape.

Alan watched Charlie worriedly. He only ate when he was forced. One minute he would look like he might actually be near some semblance of happy and he would suddenly swing to terrified, or utterly distraught, or even shifting suddenly to uncontrollable rage, but more and more, he would just seem to shut down emotionally. During the bouts of rage, they would just leave and Colby would take their place. Alan just didn't have the emotional strength to stay during the rage. He would feel himself getting mad and feared they would end up saying things neither meant and both would regret. Everyone told him that this wouldn't last, that Charlie was just struggling to sort things out and that once he was able to start coping, the emotions would smooth out. He hoped so, but as each day passed, they didn't so much smooth out and normalize, as they just shut down, disappeared. He didn't know how to help Charlie. It didn't matter whether he just barely dozed or actually made it to a deep sleep, every time he would wake up screaming from a nightmare, but no matter what he or anyone else tried, he wouldn't open up to them.

His thoughts drifted toward his eldest son, Don. He hadn't heard from him for three days now since his great escape. He couldn't understand what had happened. Again Charlie had completely shut him out. Only saying that he was okay, but not saying what had happened. He hadn't wanted to leave Donnie alone for the first visit, he'd wanted to at least by just outside the door, if not inside, but Don refused to go in unless it was alone, with everyone well away from the door. He regretted ever letting Don give him that sad look that he did and caving in to him. He should have pretended to walk away and then come back once he was inside or something. Never again, never again would he leave Donnie or Charlie alone.

--oo0oo--

He was lost, in every way. He couldn't see the world around him. He was exhausted but he couldn't bring himself to stop. He couldn't stop walking. Don didn't know how long he'd been driving before is car sputtered it's last moments of life, the tank empty. He'd barely been able to come to his senses soon enough to pull to the side of the road. He didn't know how long ago that was, he didn't care. He just kept walking, he couldn't stop. He didn't know why, he just couldn't stop. He'd lost the ability of rational thought in those moments that he'd seen Charlie in the grips of a nightmare. All he knew was that he was a failure, a failure to his brother in reality and in his dreams. Eventually his legs buckled beneath him. He collapsed to his knees, catching himself with his hands, and remained their frozen. He didn't remember laboring to his feet, or stumbling off the road towards a small patch of trees, collapsing against one, keeping it between him and the road. Before he realized it, he'd fallen asleep, overcome with exhaustion.

_He was standing in a dark room, with no way out. There was no window or door. It was a perfectly sealed room. No way in or out. It was so hot in here that he could barely breathe. His chest hurt from the effort it took for each breath. He wanted to leave, had to get out. He had to run. From what? Why did he want to run so badly? He didn't know. Suddenly he wasn't alone, there was someone else here. He looked ahead, realizing that he'd been staring at the floor. Before him was his brother, Charlie, hanging by his wrists from a rope. He was bloodied and bruised. A faceless man was pounding on his brother, the cries of pain echoing through his mind. This was so horribly familiar and yet so fresh and new at the same time. His breath caught in his throat, heart thudding painfully in his chest. His brother looked at with pleading eyes, crying out for help, but no matter how much he tried to move, he couldn't. he wanted nothing more than to pound the life out of this nameless man. He wanted to hold his brother, tell him it would be alright. But it wouldn't, it was already so wrong, and he was more helpless than his brother._

_He never saw the nameless man disappear, all he saw was his brother drop to the floor, the ropes also gone. He tried to run to his brother, but he still stood motionless. To his amazement, Charlie, though slowly, crying out at times in pain, rose to his feet. He lurched, catching himself on the wall. He pushed himself off of it again, and stood swaying. Don, abruptly capable of movement, rushed towards his brother, but when he was within arms reach, Charlie backed away._

_"Charlie?"_

_"Stay away from me." he looked his brother in the eye, and Don saw the accusing hatred burning within them._

_"But…Charlie" he took another step towards him, but again Charlie staggered backwards._

_"Get away from me. You did this."_

_"No!"_

_"This is all your fault! You wanted them to kill me!"_

_"NO!"_

_"You've hated me all a long!"_

_"No!"  
_

_"You're a LIAR! You've been pretending!"_

_"NO!_

_"YOU TRICKED ME! YOU PRETENDED THAT YOU LOVED ME!"_

_"No! It's not true!" the world was fading away, it was just him and Charlie._

_"I thought you loved me?" he whispered barely audible, but it cut deeply through him like he didn't exist._

Don bolted awake with a start, heart thudding in his chest harder than it had in the dream. The last words Charlie had spoken burned through his head and heart like a hot poker. He blinked back the tears. He couldn't, wouldn't cry. He looked around slightly confused. He was in the middle of nowhere it looked like, sleeping on the side of the road. He pulled his shirt up to look at what was left of his stab wound. It had reopened and bled some, but not enough for him to really worry about it. Achy he climbed to his feet and began walking again. He still didn't know where he was going, but he'd finally realized consciously that he was running. From everything. From his father, from Colby, and Megan, David, Larry, Amita, but mostly, he was running from Charlie.

He knew he shouldn't run, he knew that he should face what life had brought him. That it wouldn't just go away if he ran, no matter how far or how fast he ran, it would just follow him. But he couldn't stop, he just continued to walk, oblivious to everything. At some point his hands had been cold so he jammed them into his pockets, finding his wallet. He was unaware of the times that he stopped to eat, never eating much, but enough to still gain a little weight back, and regain his strength. Even if he was using it all up, plus some, with his crazed walking. Very late that night he again collapsed to his knees, finding it harder to crawl to the patch of trees, his legs burning. He was leaning against the tree, legs stretched out, aching dully from so much walking.

More out of habit then anything else, he jammed his hands back into his pockets. That had been when he found it. It was cold in his hand, and yet as he held it, oddly comforting. It glittered hypnotically in the moonlight as he spun it about in his hands, unable to focus on anything else. His mind was replaying the two weeks over and over again, the words Charlie had spoken in his dream the night before burning like a hot poker in his mind. The guilt overwhelmed him. He felt like he was being crushed but wouldn't die. He caressed the handle gently. It was a polished red mahogany, smooth as glass. Charlie had given it to him a long time ago, during happier times. He'd thought it was cool looking, and thought it was something Don would like, so he'd bought it and given it to him as a present. It was the first thing he'd given him since their mother had died. It kind of started the truce they developed, which soon led to Charlie working as a consultant for the F.B.I. In a way it was what put a lid on their humongous can of worms and allowed them to just be brothers.

He flicked the knife open with ease. He'd taken care of this one knife better than he'd taken care of his own gun. It was a collector's knife, never truly meant to be used. It was bigger than a pocket knife, but not as big as a hunter's knife, somewhere in between. It was perfectly smooth, every part of it, like perfect glass. He laughed sadly at himself. Amazing that an item used for violence, was a small piece of the puzzle that had brought him closer to his brother. It showed Charlie to him as more than just the prodigy little brother, who's shadow he'd lived in for a greater part of his life. Don let the silent tears fall down as the memories flooded his mind. All of the wrongs and hurts he'd caused Charlie overwhelmed him. His brother didn't deserve any of what he'd done through their childhood, and he certainly didn't deserve what he'd done this time. Deep down he'd known that no matter how many times he gave in to the kidnappers, they would keep hurting his brother, but he hadn't been able to hold strong and drive to the office, to help. He was weak, to weak to help himself, to weak to help his brother.

He ran his thumb over the engraving Charlie had put on there especially for him. _Forever Brothers Love Charlie_. He laughed hysterically quickly breaking down into uncontrollable sobs. He couldn't stop the sobs. It felt like an eternity that he sat there sobbing, the moon his only witness. When he finally stopped he felt no better. He couldn't understand, he wasn't bottling this up, certainly no, it seemed like all he could do now was cry, but he never felt a slight ease from the pain. It was then that he realized that as his brother would say, the variables in the equation weren't right. One of the variables in it all was wrong, causing the problems. When his brother had a variable that didn't work right, he got rid of it. Don knew it now, he was the problem variable, he was causing all the pain in his brother's life. All he could think was that he would remove the problem variable, take it out of the equation as he pressed the cold blade to his wrist.

**A/N: Am I Evil or What?!**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: okay here is another chapter. this is a charlie chapter since we haven't truly focused on him. Don't worry Don isn't forgotten! so reviews are welcome. Also, just a quick check up, does anyone think i'm writing anyone out of character, if so please tell me, and why you think they are ooc, then i'll fix them as best i can! Many thanks to simanis! you were very helpful, and if anyone else does think i'm righting out of character, if it is a serious slip i'll take care of it immediately, other wise i'm finishing this then revising! Let me know what you think!**

Chapter 20

Charlie sat, stretching and flexing his fingers. He had gotten the cast off his arm yesterday late in the evening. His muscles were a little sore from the lack of use, and he still felt a twinge of pain every now and then, but overall his arm felt much better. He'd had some food, actual food, not that icky broth they'd been giving him, and was happy to be able to feed himself, though his arm was very tired by the end. Now he was tapping his finger restlessly, his thoughts solely on Don. It had been two weeks. Two weeks since he'd run off. No one had seen him, no one had heard from him. He simply disappeared. They'd found his car, parked almost five hours away, on the side of the road, keys in the ignition, out of gas. But no Don. All he wanted was to see his brother. He didn't feel safe without him. He didn't know why. He had Colby and his father, Larry or Amita. He was never alone. And if he wasn't with Donnie, than he didn't want to be around anyone.

They tried to get him to open up, talk about what happened, or talk about anything for that matter. But he pushed them away. Don't tell them anything. Every time he woke up from a nightmare, it would be screaming bathed in sweat, but he never said anything. At first he would tell whomever was present at the time that he was fine, but now, all he would do is lay back again, close his eyes, and try to ignore them. Time passed slowly. Some nurse he didn't remember the name of brought him another plate of food. He picked at it for a while then, though he didn't want it, he ate it, knowing he wouldn't get out of here if he didn't eat. And besides seeing Don, that was the thing he wanted the most. To be rid of this hospital. He ate the food, barely registering the eyes trying to burn a hole in his head. The world was beginning to melt away from him, and he was glad. He didn't want to deal with it anymore. The strangest thing for Charlie was that he couldn't even bury himself in his numbers, he found that he couldn't even complete the equations as simple as two plus two. It wasn't that he didn't know the answer, he just couldn't drown himself in his numbers, they had abandon him.

Two days passed and he got the cast of one of his legs allowing him to just barely hobble to and from the bathroom, barely. Every time someone would jump up to help him balance on his very short journeys he would push them away and struggle against them so much that it was safer for him if they just left him alone. But that didn't stop them from following far to closely behind him, ready to catch if he suddenly collapsed. He never did. He wasn't willing to give them the satisfaction of being right that he need their help. He didn't want their help. He just wanted to leave. To get away from here. He gritted his teeth as he stumbled towards the restroom again, his father hovering far too close. He wasn't sure whether it was the pain in his leg or his father that made him grit his teeth, he had a feeling it was a little bit of both. He was mad. Why can't they just leave him alone? He just wanted them to go away.

Once he was safely locked in the bathroom, his only source of privacy now, he checked the shower and what few cupboards there were, just to be safe. Now he would quietly laugh at himself and hate himself for doing it every time, but he just couldn't relax, not when he hadn't searched all the nooks and crannies, no matter how unlikely, that someone could hide within. He did his business, washing his hands as slowly as he could. He relished the times he was alone. He looked at himself in the mirror. He hated all the scars that etched through his body. He looked like he'd gotten in a fight with a weed whacker and lost. His eyes almost looked like he had black eyes the circles were so dark and deep. He knew he wasn't sleeping well, even with the light sedatives they were giving him, the dreams still came to him. Those were the worst. The dreams. He never actually saw anything in the dreams. They were almost exactly like the memories, but the events were a little different.

It was dark, always dark. He could feel that canvas blindfold around his head. His only perceptions were sounds, smells, and pain. He could feel the pain with every blow, slash, or burn as if it were real life. It was real during the dreams, only become a dream when he woke to find the hospital. He only smelled two things, blood, and his burning flesh. It was agony, every sensation was so real. He was paralyzed in the dreams, unable to move, only capable of screaming, and feeling. They would beat him for an eternity. Always in the way that had been done in real life, though those memories weren't quite as clear as the dreams. Towards the end they would stop and he would be able to rasp out words. They were always the same. It always happened the same way, and it cut him deeply every time.

_"Don? Donnie? Are you there?" he would rasp. He would here a familiar chuckle._

_"Of course I'm here…Chuck." something about the way he would say chuck would send a shiver up his spine._

_"You came, you came here."_

_"Of course I came, how could I miss this?" Charlie's heart would clench with fear and confusion._

_"Donnie?"_

_"What is it Chuck?"_

_"Help, please help me."_

_"Why?"_

_"T-they're hurting me. T-they won't stop."_

_"I noticed."_

_"But you're here, you're here. You came here to get me. Hurry help me before they come back!" he would hear Don push off the wall and walk to him, grabbing his chin and lifting it, he supposed to look him in the eye, but Charlie couldn't see. _

_You know, that was why I came, but now that I'm here, and I see you, a pitiful, sniveling , shivering wimp, I think I'll just leave you here." he heard footsteps walk away and a door open._

_"NO WAIT DONNIE PLEASE! DON'T LEAVE ME HERE! PLEASE HELP ME!" the footsteps would pause._

_"Sorry Chuck, you're not worth it."_

That was always when he would wake up screaming. Charlie closed his eyes fighting back the tears of simply remembering. He shook his head, fighting back the dizziness. He pushed the tears back, breathing several deep breaths, ignoring the slight ache it caused in his ribs. He scrubbed his face vigorously with icy cold water, and washed his body with a wash cloth. He didn't really need to do this, he'd already done it twice that day, but his restroom trips were his only escape and washing like this only prolonged his time in solitude. He looked at himself again, and with a sigh, left his solitude. His father tried to help him again and again he pushed him away, crutching his way slowly back to his bed. After an hour or so the physical therapist came and he pushed his way through his exercised for his leg. Not once did he complain or ease up on himself, no matter how much it hurt to push himself. He was not going to back down. Several times the therapist insistent he slow down or not push quite as hard yet. Said he was working too hard too fast. He did his fastest and hardest anyways.

The exercise left him exhausted and in pain, but whenever asked by a nurse, he would say he was fine and refuse everything offered. He ignored his father. He didn't need help. He just wanted them to leave him alone, so he kept pushing them away. After Don had run from him, looking horrified, he decided something. He was resolute. He would not be a pitiful, sniveling, shivering wimp. He would be tough, take what was given him, without help, without the pain relievers. He would take it all, on his own. It was all he could think to do. He had to get things back to normal. And most of all, he had to make himself worth it. He had to be worth saving.

--oo0oo--

Colby found himself pacing endlessly. He couldn't stop his nervousness. It was almost three weeks since Don had left. Charlie would be going home in two, maybe three days. At first when he'd run off like that, Colby had though he would be gone maybe a day or two and just run out of juice for whatever he was doing. He never realized that Don could disappear like this for nearly three weeks. When he'd received a call that the car had been found, he'd hoped that Don was in it and unharmed. But he wasn't. the car had run out of gas and he'd just gotten out and walked. When he checked it, the only thing he'd found missing besides Don, was the mahogany knife, with the engraving from Charlie. It was an item that he'd never seen before, and finding it the first time they'd found his car, he felt like he'd invaded his privacy somehow.

After pacing some more he plunked down frustrated and took his anxious energy out on the numerous reports and files that he had to go through. They were double checking everything one last time. All that was left were Don and Charlie's statements. That was proving to be something difficult to gain. Don was gone, and not showing any signs of returning. There were various spotting of him and cheap restaurants and fast food joints before he disappeared again. He glanced at the map that had a red string tacked up, outlining Don's path. It wasn't much of a path. One minute he would be heading one direction, then suddenly he would go a completely different direction for a while before switching again. The string looked like a child had scribbled over the map. There was no direction. Don was wandering to nowhere in particular. A small thought clawed at his mind even as he tried to push it back. He couldn't help but wonder if their statements, when, if they got one from Don, would even be considered, or written off from mental instability. Colby sighed, frustrated. Charlie was another matter.

Charlie had shut down in just about every way. At first he was having the extreme moods swings and signs of depression, but he was communicating. Alan had confided that Charlie had completely broken down crying twice, though he wouldn't share the content of the dreams or what he remembered happen to him. No one was surprised that he didn't want to talk about that. They had all considered that if they had been in his shoes during this, they wouldn't want to talk about it and just try to forget it ever happened. Everyone thought that Don seeing Charlie would help, it would only be a small step, but it would be a chance for them to talk and prove to each other that neither blamed the other. But something had happened in that room, but whatever it was, it took them three steps back, compared to their two steps forward. When he'd returned from chasing Don, everyone was calm again, but their was something he'd seen in Charlie's eyes. They burned through his mind for hours after he'd left, trying to figure out what that look had been. It took him too long to figure it out, but he did. It had been a mixture of guilt and shame. What he couldn't understand was what did Charlie feel guilty and ashamed of?

He highly doubted that he was ashamed of Don, but he couldn't find a reason for him to be ashamed of himself either. As for the guilt he was even more confused about that, neither of them were guilty of anything, but the guilt was there. He looked at the clock, willing it to go faster. Charlie would be going home tomorrow morning, with a boat load of prescriptions, one of them being a moderate anti-depressant, and strict instructions on eating and resting. Alan had asked him to come along and help with Charlie, whether Charlie liked it or not. He'd also asked Alan if it was okay to stay and try to get Charlie to talk. As expected, Alan had offered him to stay as long as it took. For now though, all he could think about was where Don was. The time passed slowly and he found the only progress he made was adding more string to the map. Every time they made it to the sighting, Don would be long gone. They'd search the area anyways, but so far they hadn't found him.

The next day took forever in arriving, but it did finally arrive. Colby drove the car up as close to the front door as possible and got the prescriptions filled while Alan helped Charlie get dressed and pack. Once that was finished, Charlie was sitting with a tray, eating breakfast, before he left. They knew that the doctor had insisted that Charlie take a wheelchair to the car, and were expecting a fight about it, so while Charlie ate, Colby hastily grabbed the crutches and stashed them in the car. If looks could kill, the glare he received for his effort would have kill a cat and all of it's nine lives. But Colby was glad for the glare, it was more interaction they'd gotten out of Charlie in quite a while. The ride down in the elevator was a tense one, with Charlie very unhappy as he sat in the wheel chair. The ride home was equally tense, but thankfully, both were uneventful. When they arrived, Charlie grabbed the crutches before anyone could stop him and made slow but steady progress towards the house.

When his father offered him the couch or his room, Charlie just hobbled to the couch silently. They were hovering over him again and he was getting really irritated. He wished they would just leave him alone. Alone with his thoughts. He had to figure out how he'd be worth saving, to Don. He had just settled into a comfortable position and pulled the afghan draped over the couch down over him, pulling it up to his chin, when Colby came into the living room and sat down in the recliner with a bowl of soup. He smiled at him, but Charlie just kept staring unblinking at where the coffee table should be. Undeterred Colby tried to strike up a conversation.

"I hope the couch is comfy enough. Terry picked it out and David and I brought it in. Tv too." silence, but he kept going. He wasn't going to give up.

"We got a coffee table too, but it hasn't arrived yet. We paid extra for insurance so that it would get here in one piece. It's coming all the way from the east coast. Really expensive, but we think it was worth it." Charlie flinched badly at those last two words, and Colby saw it. In moments he was crouched in front of the couch, demanding an answer.

"Come on Charlie, what's wrong. You need to talk to us, we're trying to help you." Charlie refused to look him in the eye.

"Charlie, talk to me man. I'm trying to help. What's wrong. Are you in pain?" he tried to move into Charlie's field of vision but Charlie looked away. He tried to roll to face the back of the couch, but Colby gently, but firmly held him where he was.

"This isn't going to go away if you just ignore it or shut everyone out, it's going to always be here unless you face it." Charlie struggled to escape again but he wouldn't let him go. He grabbed Charlie by the chin and forced him to look him in the eye, he still tried to look elsewhere.

"Charlie, look at me. Look at me." slowly Charlie dragged his eyes to meet Colby's. He could see the struggle required for him to maintain the eye contact.

"This won't go away. I don't know why you are pushing everyone who tries to help you away. But it's not going to work. I'm not leaving, not until you talk to me."

"Not worth it." Colby stared for a moment not having expected an answer, and definitely not that one.

"What? Of course you're worth it, you've always been worth it Charlie." his gaze slipped away to look at the wall.

"Not worth it. Not worth it to Don. Wouldn't even come to get me out of there."

"Yeah, he didn't, because he couldn't." Charlie looked at him confused.

"What?"

"That's right, he couldn't come because he was in a coma at the hospital."

"Oh" now the shamed looked came back with a vengeance.

"No, don't start feeling guilty or ashamed, just don't because you didn't know. You had no way of knowing. There was nothing either of you could do. You don't blame him, and he doesn't think you're worthless. He just couldn't come. Just remember Charlie, coming to find you, the hospital visits, all the hours we spent putting you back together and making sure you had someone always there to talk to, we don't ever want you to thank us for it because, it's nothing to us as long as we get you back, because you are more than worth it." he stopped and watched the words sink in to Charlie, and the understanding begin to penetrate. He visibly deflated, sinking into the couch, no longer a blank look, but one of a person deep in thought. The silence was interrupted by Colby's cell phone. Charlie half listened to the conversation. It was a short conversation. Once ended Colby got up to leave.

"I have to go. They found Don." Charlie nodded, his mind crowded by his thoughts. Colby was already walking to the door.

"Hey Colby." Charlie sat up to see over the back of the couch.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"You're welcome Charlie" as Colby left, Charlie couldn't stop the small smile from spreading. He _was_ worth it. He was worth it to Don.

**A/N: Okay, there it is, a small step forward for Charlie. now i'm gonna go do the dishes so my mom doesn't kill me then i'm crawling in bed and dying! I feel horrible! i guess that's why i whump them so bad. R&R!**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Okay this is a little shorter, but it's all Don! Him and Colby have a little heart to heart. It was really hard to write but here it is! We're almost finished, just a few more chapters to go! This is where you reward my hard work by throwing cookies and reviews at me! Anyways I"m officially rambling so on with the Chapter!**

Chapter 21

Colby was driving at break neck speeds, allowed to pass only because of the lights. He didn't know what condition Don was in, just that he'd been found. His mind was still mulling over what Charlie had talked to him about. It was a surprise really. He hadn't expected that talking about the coffee table would actually work, it was just supposed to be the starting point. He still couldn't imagine what Charlie had gone through. He kept wondering, how would he take it, if he had been attacked like Charlie had, not able to see what or who was attacking and why. He only hoped that he would be able to handle it as well as Charlie. It was hard for him he knew, but then after he'd discovered Charlie thought that he wasn't worth being saved, cemented by the fact that it hadn't been Don but Colby that got him out of the warehouse and his flight away from him at the hospital, it only seemed the truth to Charlie. He was glad to have been able to help Charlie a little. He was no replacement for Don that was for sure, but he had helped him make a small step forward. That smile that he'd had when he left was a definite sign, it would be a long hard road, but he could get through this, especially with Don back.

His thoughts drifted to Don again. He wasn't sure how to help him. Don had been forced to see everything happening. He'd been free and yet a captive all the same. He shuddered remember the video he'd seen, of Don at the bank, when they'd taken him into that office. He'd seen the video of Don coming out first, how what they'd done in there sent him into a state of shock. That alone had shaken him, seeing Don so hurt, so vulnerable like that. That wasn't Don. Don was the tough one, invincible, unshaken by anything, in control. He knew that it wasn't true to think like that, but that was the idea the Don gave off. Once he saw that, he knew he'd have to steel himself for what actually happened. If it could shake Don like that, then it could shake most anyone. While watching it he'd had to constantly sip and ice cold water bottle to keep from throwing up. It was bad.

There was a video conference, the screen turned towards Don. On the screen was Charlie, hanging by his wrists from the ceiling. He wasn't cut up so badly as when he'd found him, it was mostly all the hideous bruises and broken bones. It made his heart clench even now, knowing that he was safe again. He watched as they cut the rope and let him drop in a heap to the ground. He gave a weak whimper followed by a moan as he was hoisted roughly onto a table. He tossed his head side to side in protest, unable to do anything else. Although he was blindfolded it was clear that he was only semi-conscious and Colby suspected that it was close to this time that the delirium had set in. He was mumbling, mostly for Don to help him, but at times he would say things like 'mom knew you'd come' or other references as if is mother were there again. It made Colby want to cry. They were clearly not concerned about Charlie trying to escape, or trying anything for that matter as he as completely unrestrained, only the blindfold remaining. His skin was flushed with the fever.

He watched with a clenched jaw that would twitch in rage or have to blink back tears that threatened as he watched them cut Charlie and watch as Don reacted to each and every cry. They were cutting slowly, never getting close to any arteries, only going deep enough to cause a great deal of pain. And that is exactly what Charlie was in. At his strongest moments, which were few and far apart, he would try to roll away from them and their wicked knives, begging for them to stop. Colby had never been so glad before when Charlie finally succumbed to a fevered unconsciousness. It was a mercy to Charlie. But there was no mercy for Don, who looked near fainting and getting sick. Every now and then Don would plead for Charlie's sake that they stop. He would just receive a sharp blow to the head and told to be quiet. The showing only got worse when the guy who'd been cutting, stopped and checked Charlie's pulse. They taunted Don for a minute or two then, slowly they hooked Charlie up to a heart monitor and defibrillator. The flat line was ear piercing. Don was hyperventilating.

They watched horrified as Charlie's body arched off the table and crashed down painfully, arching higher every time. It took three attempts, but both Don and Colby were sighing with relief when that weak but ever present heartbeat returned. Colby had to remind himself several times that this was a video and that Charlie was alive and looking like he would stay that way. They flat lined Charlie three more times, each one becoming harder to revive him, before they took Don out of the office in a severe state of shock. Colby would never admit it, but he'd felt like crying after watching. He'd had to go to the men's room and work to maintain composure. He wondered whether Don would ever really get past that day, especially. He was jerked from his thoughts as he arrived at the medium size park.

Colby got out and approached the officer that was leaned against a tree, keeping an eye on Don, in a relaxed fashion. He walked up quietly, nodding to the officer. He looked over to where Don was, waiting for a bit before heading over. He was sitting, leaned against a fair sized tree, his knees drawn up somewhat, his elbows resting on his knees, an object in his hands, though what it was Colby couldn't quite see. He was clearly oblivious to the officer and Colby who were watching a good ten feet away.

"How long has he been there?"

"Well, someone said they saw him stumble to that tree sometime yesterday, but they didn't report anything until today when they saw the BOLO out for him. He was still here when I arrived to check it out."

"Has he said anything?"

"Nope, he's oblivious to everything around him."

"All right, thanks for your help. You don't have to stay now." the officer nodded, walking away, stealing one last curious glance at Don. Colby waited until the officer was gone and with a tired sigh went over and crouched in front of Don. He wasn't aware of the new presence. Now that he was closer he could see that Don was holding the knife that was missing from the car.

"Don? Don?"

"I couldn't do it"

"What?"

"I couldn't do it. I was going to, but I just couldn't do it." Colby noticed that on Don's left wrist was a red slice that looked as if he'd tried to slit his wrist but stopped himself from doing it, the only evidence left behind was the red mark of bruised skin. He gulped at how close Don had come to actually going through with it.

"You were going to kill yourself?" he prompted. Don nodded.

"I just kept thinking that if I wasn't around, I'd stop causing Charlie more pain. But I couldn't do it, I just couldn't do it."

"I'm glad you couldn't do it, because it's not what Charlie wants, and I know that ultimately it wasn't what you wanted either."

"I don't know what I want anymore."

"We'll I think you should wait on the suicide until you do know." Don gave a sad laugh.

"You know when Charlie gave me this knife, it wasn't long after mom died."

"Yeah"

"Charlie hadn't been out of his numbers for very long, a week at most I think. He just stopped I guess and looked around to find his life completely changed."

"Mmm hmmm…"

"I was so mad at him at the time, I couldn't believe or understand what he'd done. I'd said some pretty harsh things not long before. After that I ignored his very existence."

"Yeah"

"I was so determined to hate him and be mad at the world that I didn't see how badly he was hurting. He'd lost mom, but he'd lost his brother too, and at the time I didn't care."

"and?"

"He avoided me for a while, gave me more then enough space, to cool off I guess. Anyways, one day I came home. I didn't see him at all that day, don't know where he went. But in my room I found a note, with the knife on top of it so I could see the inscription. All the note said was '_I've lost my mother, I don't want to lose my brother too. I'm sorry. Charlie_' well after that, yes I was still mad, but I realized that after a while, I was actually having to work at being mad at him. I guess you could say it opened the door for what we had before all of this."

"You know Don, just because all of this happened, doesn't me that what you've had with Charlie is ruined. He doesn't blame or hate you in the least bit. To be honest he thinks that you don't want anything to do with him. He's felt rejected ever since you ran from the hospital." Don looked up for the first time horrified at Colby.

"But, I-I don't hate him."

"That's what I told him, but he needs to hear it from you. You need to go home an talk to him Don. So how bout I take you home and you can talk to Charlie, it'll do you both good."

"No! I'm, I'm not ready to face him yet. Please, not yet." Colby thought for a moment, trying to think of a compromise.

"How bout this, it's going to be pretty late when we get back to L.A and I'm betting we need to stop and get you something to eat before we leave. So you can spend the night at my house, get a little time to compose yourself for seeing Charlie and I'll drop you off at Charlie's house in the morning." Don allowed himself a small, but genuine smile. This was a good compromise.

"Oh Colby"

"yeah?"

"Please don't tell them that I tried to uh, ya know."

"If you promise me one thing"

"What?"

"Don't try it again, and if you get any thoughts of trying again, come to me first okay." Don smiled a little, glad to have Colby as a friend.

"Deal" Before they left they stopped for some food and Don realized just how hungry he'd been. As they drove home, Don found himself sinking into the seat, a warm cozy blanket curled around him, drifting into the first peaceful sleep he'd had in a long time, unbeknownst to the smile that stretched across his face. He was done running.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Well, this is the last chapter! It was very hard to write, so please be nice. I didn't know it would be the last chapter until the last few paragraphs, so it was a surprise to us all! So this makes my second multi-chapter story I've ever finished! Reward me with the most reviews ever! Hope you enjoyed! Look for the sequel in the Future! Bye-Bye!(Special thanks to simanis and mamunn2 for being the most faithful reviewers)**

Chapter 22

When they arrived at his house, Colby had trouble waking Don from his very deep slumber. He'd thankfully slept through the entire car ride home, without even shifting and inch. He was glad to see that he was finally getting some decent rest. He highly doubted that that was something he'd been getting lately. He hoped that Don was turning a corner after their talk today. He seemed, less concerned, or worried, he supposed that might be a better, maybe even less afraid, to see his brother the next day. Perhaps they'd asked him too soon to talk to Charlie three weeks ago. He really didn't know, he could only hope that this time, it went better, for both of them. When he failed to wake Don he trudge out of the car tired and opened Don's door, glad to have quick reflexes since he'd forgotten that he was leaning against it and was unbuckled already. He pushed him back into the seat shaking him again, calling his name loudly.

"Don. Don. Don!" he scowled but didn't actually wake. Colby shook him harder this time.

"G' way." he mumbled. Colby huffed.

"Come on Don, it's almost midnight, the neighbors are going to get some crazy ideas seeing me bring you home like this, now wake up!" Don blinked owlishly, looking at Colby for a moment then started to sink back down and drift asleep again.

"Five more minutes." he mumbled still not truly awake. Colby yanked him out of the car before he could fall asleep again, having to basically carry/drag Don into the house. It was a little tricky searching his pockets for his house key and balancing Don whom was pretty much a dead weight at the moment, the exhaustion of these past weeks and longer having finally caught up with him. He just shook his head at him when Don mumbled something about having to take a shower, or at least that was what he though Don had said.

"Let's just get you to be able to stand first, then maybe we can see about you having a shower tomorrow." Don's reply was incoherent at best. They pushed past the bathroom and into the guest bedroom without him even realizing. He was dead asleep before he hit the bed. Colby removed his shoes placing them at the foot of the bed, and after much pushing and shoving, with a few close calls of dropping Don off the bed, got him underneath the covers, in the center of the bed. He was snoring before Colby was at the door. He sighed, he hoped he never saw his friend this worn and wear, emotionally and physically, ever again. All he knew was that this never should have happened, especially not to Don and Charlie, all they ever did was give to complete strangers, without any thought of reward. They were the most selfless people he knew. They could never deserve this. He gulped back the emotions as he went, exhausted to his room.

It was somewhere close to three in the morning when he jolted awake, taking a moment to realize what had woken him in the first place. He had barely shaken off the cobwebs in his mind when it registered. He'd heard Don scream. His first thought was an intruder. But he didn't hear anything that indicated an intruder. Then he heard someone rushing to his bathroom and the acoustics of vomiting. He waited just by his door, until he heard Don wander into the living room. He gave him about ten minutes alone before wandering in and flopping onto the couch next to him, casting a sideways glance at him.

"You wanna talk about it?" Don leaned his head back onto the couch, his face pale, a sheen of sweat visible in the dark room. The cause being a nightmare was of no question. He sighed heavily.

"What good would it do? I'll still have them"

"Yeah, but they'll be easier know that you don't have to face them alone." Don gulped.

"It's me an Charlie in that dark room. There's another man in the room….beating Charlie….and I-I can't help, I can't even move. They just keep hitting him, and all I can do is watch. Then he just disappears and Charlie gets up, barely."

"Yeah."

"I try to help him, but he keeps moving away from me, tells me to stay away from him, that everything that happened, was my fault. That I wanted it to happen. He said…he said that I'd hated him all along. Said that the relationship I've had with him lately, that….that it was all a lie, that I was tricking him because I truly hated him." Colby could hear Don struggling to keep his voice even.

"It wasn't your fault, and Charlie doesn't hate or blame you, you know that right?" Don sighed.

"I suppose that's what I'm supposed to find out tomorrow huh. I keep telling myself that he doesn't, but that's what we're supposed to talk about later, I guess."

"Exactly."

"But what if I keep having the dream, even after I talk to Charlie? I'm so tired of seeing it, hearing the accusations every time I close my eyes. I can't live like that."

"Honestly, I don't think you will have to. I think that once you talk to Charlie, and start to overcome your guilt that you feel, the dreams will fade. Whether or not new ones will take their place I don't know, but I do believe that once you open up to Charlie, and work together on getting past this, the dreams won't be as bad."

"I really hope so Colby." they sat for a while in a comfortable silence, Don deep in thought and Colby as a friendly presence for a friend in need. The only sound was the distant tick of a clock.

"So do you think you'll be able to sleep again tonight?"

"What if the dream comes back?"

"Well, maybe, if you fall asleep thinking of happy thoughts, it won't come." A small smile appeared on Don's face.

"What happens when I wake up to find myself flying?"

"Not gonna happen, I ran out of pixy dust last week." Don snorted.

"All right, I'll give it a try." he stumbled back the guest bedroom, suddenly aware of how tired he still was. He thought about everything Colby had said, smiling at the small joke they had made. It had been hard for him to make it, but he was desperate to get back to normal, so he went against what was easy and went for something close to what had been normal. Much to his surprise he was able to fall asleep after about half an hour of laying there, staring at the dark ceiling. The dream did come again, but when he woke, he didn't remember. He woke sometime around nine that morning with a sense of apprehension, but unlike last time, it wasn't overwhelming. The steaming hot shower, that was unusually long for him, helped to calm his frayed nerves a bit more, helping him to feel a bit more prepared for later that day. Although food didn't appeal to him, he was able to down a cup o coffee.

Don spent the ride to Charlie's in utter nervousness, leg bouncing as if he were on a sugar high. He was chewing on his lip, hands wringing and fidgeting, one moment they would be in his lap, the next they would run through his hair, rub his chin, fiddle with the window, making it go up and down, run through his hair again, play with the automatic locks on the door. Anything to keep him distracted.

"Don you have to calm down."

"I can't calm down."

"Well you have to stop running the window up and down like that, you're gonna break it."

"How am I going to break it, it's supposed to go up and down?" Colby opened his mouth to argue for a moment but he couldn't find a counter measure to that, it was designed to go up and down after all. He closed his mouth in defeat and Don smirked at him for a moment, but it quickly dissipated back into his nervous fidgeting.

"Look just relax we're here." Colby shook his head. "Alan's going to think I gave you something to hype you up like this." Don practically launched himself out of the car, slamming the door shut harder then necessary. Then he paused for a moment, taking several deep breaths. It was the calmest moment Granger had seen from him all morning. They were just rounding the garage and headed up the walkway when Don froze, staring petrified at the front door. Colby paused looking back at him.

"Come on Don, it's going to be okay, they're your family. They _want_ to see you. In fact I was sure Alan nearly grounded me yesterday for not bringing you straight here." There it was, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth that slowly curved up enough to qualify as a very small smile. Now standing behind him, Colby gave Don a gentle, but unyielding push forward until they got to the door, where he stood next to him. Don had just raised a hand to knock when the door flew open and Alan burst through it, engulfing Don in a bone crunching hug. The 'oof' was audible to all, and Don was sure that he really did hear a few of his ribs crunch. After a moment to recovery from the shock of the assault, Don relaxed and returned the hug, feeling safe in his father's arms. Colby, feeling awkward at such a private moment slipped inside, unnoticed.

"Hi Dad" Don said meekly.

"Oh Donnie, where have you been? I've been so worried."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have run like that. It was stupid."

"Don, if leaving for those three weeks helped you in any way, then I'm glad. I would rather you have gotten through this with your family, but I'll accept that it might have been what you needed. I'm just glad you are home, and I want you to know that I love you unconditionally. There is nothing you can do to make me stop loving you. Do you understand that?"

"Yeah, I understand, I've just…I've just been lost lately, but not any more, I think. I'm glad to be home." he hugged his father tightly once more. His father drew back after a bit, blinking back a few threatening tears.

"Come inside, are you hungry? Have you eaten? There's lots of chicken soup and jell-o right now."

"I'm okay right now. Where's Charlie, I really need to talk to him right now." his father nodded knowingly.

"He's in the garage last I checked. He's been awful quiet, but he hasn't been working on any math. I'm not sure exactly what he's been doing, but he doesn't want to be in the house." he nodded.

"Okay, I'm going to go talk to him. I've run from all of this too long, it's time for me to face it." his father nodded encouragingly.

"I'm proud of you, for facing this. It can't be easy."

"Thanks Dad, it means a lot to me." taking a deep breath he headed towards the garage to talk to his little brother, absently rubbing his side. His father had brought new meaning to bone-crushing hug. He half expected to find a bruise there in the morning, but it would be one bruise that he would be glad to have. His hand hovered over the doorknob to the garage for a moment. With a deep breath he opened the door. He found his brother standing in the garage, with crutches, a cast on one leg, and a wrist brace, his back facing him. He stopped about three feet away from his brother.

"Charlie?" it had barely been a whisper that he hadn't expected his brother to hear, but to his surprise, Charlie whipped around to face him, and before he could react, dropped the crutches and was instantly latched onto him in a desperate hug.

"Donnie" Charlie held on to his brother for dear life afraid that if he let go he would disappear again, so he just kept holding on.

"Oh Charlie, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, for all of this." They broke apart and went to the couch, sitting side by side.

"Why did you leave Don? Why did you run away." his brother had that hurt look, and Don knew that he'd hurt his brother by leaving.

"I'm sorry. At the hospital, when you were having the nightmare, I just, I froze. You were calling for help, for my help, and I just froze on the spot. It was just like before, you needing my help, and me frozen, incapable of helping you when you needed me most. I guess, I guess I ran because I was so ashamed of myself, that I thought you'd be better off without me."

"What? Why would you think that? Don what happened those two weeks, they said that you were at the hospital in a coma when they raided the building where I was being held, what happened to you?" his brother was looking at him fearfully.

"What do you know Charlie?"

"They kidnapped me, and ya know, then the next thing I know Colby was there, telling me everything would be okay and I'm suddenly in the hospital, safe and sound. No one ever talked to me or told be what was going on while I was there."

"Oh." Don didn't want to tell Charlie, he'd been through enough and didn't need to hear what he'd gone through, but Don knew that he had to tell Charlie, though it pained him to do so.

"Donnie?"

"They…they contacted me, phone calls first, then videos and audio tapes, telling me to do things for them, and I did, after those first two phone calls, when I heard them hurting you. I actually heard them snap one of your bones, then when they went with you with that bat, I just…I couldn't go against them."

"Yeah, that was my arm, that bone snapping you heard." Charlie added nervously. Don was looking a little sick.

"I tried to get help, but that was the second phone call, with the bat. I tried to go against them, but every time, no matter how small of a defiance, it caused you pain, and I heard or saw it all. My resolve crumbled. I couldn't do it. Do you hate me? If you do I'll leave, I don't want to make this harder on you." he started to stand.

"No! Don please don't leave. Don I don't hate you, why would you think I did?"

"I was afraid that you would blame me for what happened, for not being able to save you."

"No, I couldn't hate or blame you, especially for all of this. You weren't in control of what happened and neither was I. I can't blame you for that. And I absolutely do not hate you. I love you Don, I could never hate you." Don broke into a big grin.

"Those were the exact words I needed to hear today buddy." Charlie smiled back meekly

"Don, do you…do you think I was worth being saved?"

"Of course you're worth it Charlie, I could never think you weren't. Charlie, you are more than worth it, I just wish I could have been the one to save you. Understand." Charlie nodded. They were both grinning like Cheshire cats now. They spent hours talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Moments of the conversation would return to the recent events that had past, but they were never long, both brothers just wanting to put it behind them. Before they even realized it, it was four o'clock and time for Charlie's physical therapy. Both were reluctant to end their conversation. They were just about to head into the house when Charlie added one last thing.

"Don promise me on thing before we go in."

"What's that Charlie?"

"If something like this ever happens again, don't give up. No matter what they are doing to me, don't give up. I wouldn't want you to give up like that for me, even if this all happened over again. Promise."

"Alright Charlie, I promise, I'll never give up." The coming months were hard, filled with nightmares, therapy sessions, and at the roughest spots a few tears. The trials were the hardest part of everything. Having to go tell what they knew in front of the people, hoping to maintain composure in front of the men that had caused this torture in the first place. Don often found himself pushing down a small twinge of guilt, and a handful of fear that it would happen again. The one thing that kept him going was his promise to Charlie. He was walking into his apartment, plunking the keys onto a table for a moment. He wouldn't be here long, he was just getting some stuff and going back to Charlie's for the night. He was just about to take out the trash when he saw the note on the kitchen table. He read it over and over again, heart thudding against his chest, praying suddenly that he could keep his promise to Charlie.

Beside the note was the ring from his dream. _We're Not Finished With You._

**A/N: Tada! You like?**


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